


Coincidental

by FoliumInAuras



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Boss/Employee Relationship, CEO!Lexa, F/F, artist!Clarke, barista!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-01-19 19:48:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12416925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoliumInAuras/pseuds/FoliumInAuras
Summary: When the green eyes of the woman snapped to her, it suddenly dawned on Clarke that the woman in front of her was not a college student at all, but was, in fact, the sister of Raven’s girlfriend Anya. The same Anya who happened to be Clarke’s boss, making the woman stood in front of her the sister who oversaw the entirety of the Woods Inc. company.Clarke focused on her finger as it circled a knot in the wood of the table.She was so screwed.“So you’re the roommate.”Startled by the noise in the quiet, Clarke looked up. Their eyes held each other’s, for too long probably, but Clarke couldn’t look away. It took her a moment to find her voice.“And you’re the sister.”“That I am.”Unsure of what else to do, Clarke gestured to the tray in front of her.“Doughnut?”





	1. A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually share my works as I'm a perfectionist. My friend said it's good and I need to stop editing and just post my work.
> 
> She also said she would take away my stash of chocolate salted caramel ice cream at the back of the freezer, so... here we are.
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
> (Side Note: I'm British and there are a lot of things I can re-name to fit the masses, like 'icing sugar' becomes 'powdered sugar', but Wellington boots will always be Wellington boots.)

“Are you sure you can’t manage this yourself?”

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She missed the faint _click_ on the other end of the phone.

“Look. The guy’s been going on about the mains and something about a tripped switch, or something like that. I don’t really know. What I do know is that Anya’s in a different State and Jaha won’t pick up – seriously, he’s useless, why is he still here? – and I need someone from higher up to get down here and sort this out so I can go home.”

“Miss Griffin—” the woman’s voice seemed to echo down the line.

“I’m sorry. Maya, was it?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Right. Well I have been here since four, Maya. This morning. These same four walls, all day. I came in, set up, did a three-man job by myself because Niylah and Echo phoned in sick and no one else would cover them, and then had to stay on when my shift finished at twelve because Collins and Bellamy – those complete and utter _dickheads_ – didn’t show. Again. I’m sure they’re fucking, which would be fine if they turned up for their fucking shifts. And it would have been fine had management helped me out earlier when I called, but they didn’t. Because no one picked up the fucking phone. So excuse me for wanting to go home after being on my own in a busy coffee shop filled with horny college students, but it is already gone midnight and I have to be back here in less than four hours and I refuse to accept that there isn’t _anyone_ you can call to get their lazy asses out of bed and sort this fucking alarm out.”

Clarke was met by silence. “Hello?”

 “I will be right there, Miss Griffin,” a female voice, discernibly not Maya’s said before the line went dead.

* * *

Not long after Clarke was rudely hung up on, a different technician turned up to relieve the first one – a smooth switch of swifts where people showed up and knew what they were doing, something Clarke was prepared to point out to whatever airhead eventually turned up – and the newcomer was the first good thing about Clarke’s day.

“Bullshit.”

Clarke regretted saying that so badly when Raven turned over three kings. She took the remainder of the cards and added them to her hand.

Well, she was _almost_ the first good thing to happen.

Raven laughed. “You just never learn.”

“How can you always have such good cards? It’s just not possible.”

“Except I do so it is.”

Clarke sighed and dropped the cards onto the table, her eyes flitting back to the clock on the wall – half past twelve.

“You know you could have called me, right?” Raven asked, collecting the cards and putting the deck back in the box.

“As much as I appreciate the offer, what would you have done?”

“I don’t know,” Raven shrugged. “Gathered the gang? We’d all have been here the second you called, you know that. That, or me and O would have provided top of the range entertainment.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah. I think coffee shop entertainment is supposed to entice customers, not put them off.”

Raven scoffed. “Rude.” She smiled. “Still. I’m sorry you had a bad day, Griff.”

“Yeah, well,” Clarke sighed, “hopefully it’s almost over.”

“I’m definitely not complaining. Hanging out with you is a good night.”

“We should all get together soon.”

“Yeah, maybe next weekend?”

“I’m working. I’ll talk to Octavia, though, she’s good at rounding us all up.”

They shared in their laughter until the bell above the door to the shop jingled.

Clarke turned to see a young woman in an over-sized hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms tucked into wellington boots standing just inside the door as she shook her body in a fruitless attempt to rid her clothes of the raindrops that had already seeped into the material. The furrowed brow that accompanied the shaking was completely endearing at best and adorable at worst, but Clarke was too exhausted to care.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed,” Clarke said.

The woman looked up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sure you’ve had a long day of studying and you lost track of time and you just need _one cup of coffee_ because you’re exhausted,” Clarke said, indicating to the shoulder bag, wet hair in a messy ponytail and glasses that sat askew on the woman’s nose, “but we’re closed.”

The woman opened her mouth to respond when Clarke seemed to visibly deflate and interrupted her.

“You can have a free pastry though,” she offered, already getting up and walking to the counter. “They were baked this morning, so although they’re not the freshest of the bunch, they’re not stale and are totally edible.”

Raven watched in amusement as Clarke approached the woman with an open box of pastries and a small smile.

“Take your pick.”

When the woman hesitated, Clarke continued.

“I can even warm it up for you. Go on, pick one.”

Wordlessly, and seemingly dazed, the woman raised a hand and pointed at the chocolate-covered doughnut with rainbow sprinkles.

 “Good choice. I’ll go and warm it up for you. You can eat it in here, if you want. It’s not exactly nice out there.”

Clarke pulled the chair she had previously been sat on out a bit more to indicate where the woman should sit and as she made her way towards the back kitchen, she thought she heard Raven laughing.

* * *

Three warmed doughnuts and three hot mugs of hot chocolate on a tray, Clarke returned to the front of the shop to find Raven and the woman stood by the front door. Raven was pointing to the wires surrounding the door frame as the woman made notes on a clipboard.

Clarke stepped farther into the room and placed the tray onto the vacated table. At the sound, Raven turned to her.

“We’re just about done here, Clarke,” Raven said. “Do you need a ride home after?”

“What?”

“Lexa has all of this in hand, so if you grab your stuff I can drop you home on my way back.”

Clarke looked between Raven, the woman, the clipboard where the pen was still moving, and back to Raven again.

“Um. No. I’m okay. Thanks, though.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You go and I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” Raven moved to get her bag from beneath the table. “Let me know when you’re back?”

Clarke nodded and gave a tight smile. “Will do.”

Raven winked. “Enjoy your night.”

Raven walked to the door and shook the waiting woman’s hand.

“Someone will be out in the morning.”

“Thank you, Ms. Reyes.”

“Please,” Raven scoffed, “You’ve see me naked. We are way passed that.”

“Good _bye_ , Raven,” Lexa said, opening the door.

Raven strolled out onto the street and just as the door was closing, shouted, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” followed by a hearty chuckle. It was unclear which of them she was talking to.

Clarke watched Raven leave and when the green eyes of the woman snapped to her, it suddenly dawned on Clarke that the woman in front of her was not a college student at all, but was, in fact, the sister of Raven’s girlfriend Anya. The same Anya who happened to be Clarke’s boss, making the woman stood in front of her the sister who oversaw the entirety of the _Woods Inc._ company.

Clarke focused on her finger as it circled a knot in the wood of the table.

She was so screwed.

“So you’re the roommate.”

Startled by the noise in the quiet, Clarke looked up. Their eyes held each other’s, for too long probably, but Clarke couldn’t look away. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“And you’re the sister.”

“That I am.”

Unsure of what else to do, Clarke gestured to the tray in front of her.

“Doughnut?”

* * *

The two women had been sat at the table in an uncomfortable silence for too long, but neither knew how to leave.

Lexa cleared her throat and Clarke, mid-bite, looked up to see Lexa’s hands clasped on the table top and her expression stern.

“I would like to inform you that I don’t usually wear such attire to work,” Lexa said. “As much as I would like to,” she added with a small-but-there smile and shining eyes.

“And I’m not usually rude to customers. As much as I might want to be sometimes.” Clarke mirrored Lexa’s smile. “I can overlook your unprofessionalism if you can overlook mine.”

“That would be much appreciated on my part. As would never mentioning this again.”

“Deal.”

They broke eye contact and when Clarke looked up again, she caught Lexa, not for the first time, eyeing the third doughnut that Raven never ate. She picked it up, broke it into two uneven parts, and placed the larger part on Lexa’s plate before taking a bite out of her own.

It took Lexa a moment to react, to pick the pastry up and eat it. When their eyes met once again, Clarke couldn’t help but laugh at the powdered sugar surrounding Lexa’s lips.

“What?” Lexa asked, a deer caught in headlights.

Clarke shook her head. “Nothing,” and ate the last of her donut.

Lexa scrunched her eyebrows together as she studied the girl in front of her, but in the end the doughnut won and her attention returned to finishing it.

* * *

Clarke was just finishing putting the last of the cleaned dishes away when Lexa walked in and began to rinse the cloth she had commandeered earlier with the insistence that she could ‘wipe down a table easily enough, Clarke’. She rung it out and draped it over the sink before returning to the front of the shop.

Clarke soon followed, collected her belongings and joining Lexa at the door.

“I’m–”

“Look–”

Both women started at the same time; Lexa motioned for Clarke to continue.

“I’m sorry for tonight,” Clarke said as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Sorry to have dragged you out of bed and into the pouring rain to come down here.”

“Well, as you so eloquently told Maya, you had been here all day and it seemed only right that I be the one to get my lazy ass out of bed and come and help.”

Clarke was horrified. “She _told_ you?”

“No, Miss Griffin, my assistant added me into the phone call.”

“So… how much exactly did you hear?”

“The majority of it.” Lexa looked like she was thoroughly enjoying Clarke’s embarrassment.

“I am so sor–”

Lexa raised a hand and Clarke immediately stopped talking.

“Your apologies are unnecessary, Miss Griffin. It is I who should be apologising to you. I pride myself on my capability to run this company and for you to have been left in such a position as you were today is unacceptable by even the lowest of standards. I take full responsibility for that and commend you on how you dealt with the situation. I give you my word that I will meet with Anya and we will look into not only the way this coffee shop is run, but also the employees. Cuts and new hires will take place if I feel it appropriate and I assure you those who work here will be, as are you, of the greatest competence.”

“I…” Clarke cleared her throat and looked Lexa in the eye. “Thank you.”

They stepped outside and Lexa waited whilst Clarke locked the door.

“It was lovely to meet you, Miss Griffin.” Lexa extended her hand to Clarke.

Clarke reached out and accepted Lexa’s handshake. “It was lovely meeting you as well, Miss Woods.”

“Enjoy your days off. They are well deserved.”

“Oh– um– yeah. I will. When I get them. Thanks. ”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m on an eleven-day straight. Thursday through to next Sunday.”

“That’s absurd! Anya should never have–”

“She didn’t. I picked up a few extra shifts.

“That’s more than a few.”

Clarke shrugged. “I could do with the extra money.”

“Consider tomorrow and Tuesday paid leave then.”

“Miss Woods–”

“It’s non-negotiable,” Lexa said with a hint of a smirk. “Just say ‘thank you’.”

Clarke conceded with a sigh. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Lexa inclined her head. “Have a good night, Miss Griffin.”

And then Lexa was flicking her hood up and jogging through the rain – as much as she could in her wellington boots – to her car.

It was then that Clarke realised that it hadn’t been raining that morning when she had walked to work and a part of her wished that she had taken Raven up on her offer of a lift. But Raven was gone and she had strangely enjoyed her time with Lexa, and the rain wasn’t letting up any time soon, that much was clear, so Clarke resigned herself to a long walk home in the rain after a long day of exhausting herself at work.

Clarke had not walked even half way up the street when her shadow was elongated and illuminated by the headlights of an approaching vehicle. She tucked herself closer to the wall so as not to get splashed by the wheels passing through the puddles lining the curb, but instead she watched a truck slow down just in front of her. The window dropped and she saw Lexa behind the wheel when she reached the passenger side.

“You’re not walking in this.”

* * *

Which was how Clarke found herself sitting in the quiet truck of the very attractive boss of her boss's boss, without even the radio to fill the awkward silence, too aware of herself as she tried to not move too much, to not breathe too loudly, to not look out of the side window too intensely so as to seem rude yet to not look too far in Lexa’s direction so as to summon uncomfortable small talk that neither one of them wanted to participate in.

“Straight on, or...?” Lexa asked as they approached a crossroad.

“Um, yeah. And then the second right.”

The silence continued, interspersed with a question or given direction, until ten minutes later they were pulling up in front of Clarke’s apartment building.

“Thank you so much,” Clarke said, unclipping her belt.

“You are most welcome, Miss Griffin.” Lexa eyed the mostly dark building and Clarke suddenly saw it the way Lexa must have: that it was run-down and in an area that wasn’t particularly nice, that it looked uninviting and unsafe, and Clarke was overcome with embarrassment and the need to excuse herself.

“It’s not permanent,” she blurted.

“Pardon?”

“The apartment. This place. It’s not what you think. We’re saving money. Me, Raven and Octavia - our other roommate. We’re looking for a nicer place that we can afford but just haven’t found somewhere yet. It’s not long-term. Hopefully not even short-term. Just temporary-term.” She really needed to stop talking.

“What I think is that it looks dark,” Lexa said. “Will you be okay going in on your own?”

And Clarke’s embarrassment increased ten-fold as she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Her night had been nothing but bad impressions and unfiltered words, and she was certain that the universe had it in for her when it came to humiliating herself in front of pretty girls. She opened her eyes to Lexa’s tilted head and concerned eyes. Those eyes-

“Ye-” Clarke cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yes. Thanks. Thank you. And thank you again for tonight. And sorry again about the phone call and dragging you out in the rain and all that,” Clarke said waving her hand about and she really needed to stop doing that.

The amusement returned to Lexa’s eyes and a smile tugged at her lips. “It was my pleasure.”

“Well, thanks again.”

Clarke opened the door but missed her step, and stumbled out onto the pavement.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep,” Clarke said, righting herself.

Clarke turned and gave a small smile which was more of a grimace, started to wave but changed her mind so her hand just flapped about without direction, and so used to Raven’s old pick-up with it’s rusty passenger door, pushed the door with so much force that it quickly slammed shut and rocked the truck. She scrunched her face up in dread, her hand had returned and was waving again, and she was sure that she saw Lexa laughing as she drove off, Clarke still standing on the curb waving for far too long than was appropriate.

Long days and pretty girls just didn’t go well together, she sighed as she headed up to the third floor.

* * *

As Clarke’s body sank into the mattress and her eyes closed, she saw pale green eyes that were a field on the last morning of winter, slowly blending into spring and the warming of the earth, but lingering in thick mist hanging low over the world whilst the sun lazily rises and yawns its golden flickering rays through the tree canopies and across the grass still stretching and waking to the light of the world.


	2. A Rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned a lot quicker than I expected. Quicker than my friend expected too. She had to buy me more ice cream.
> 
> Said friend is taking me to an off-grid cabin in the middle of nowhere. But it has a freezer plenty big enough for six tubs of chocolate salted caramel ice cream so I'm all set. That does means that the next update will take a few weeks though and for that I am sorry.
> 
> I will share my ice cream with you, if that will help? It's very nice.

When, just before four A.M. on Wednesday, Clarke unlocked the front door of Wild Wood Café, she was not surprised to see the kitchen light in the back left on. It wasn't the first time that someone hadn't closed down properly and it wouldn't be the last.

She had spent most of Monday sleeping and had a girls’ night in with Raven and Octavia, with Chinese take-out and large amounts of junk food that made them feel bloated and sick, lethargic and tired in the best of ways, in the ways only copious amounts of unhealthy processed sugar can.

Tuesday saw Clarke up with the birds, walking through the park to her favourite bench: situated on the North side of the lake, the early spring sun crawled towards her as it elapsed the trees and raised into the sky, gradually warming her as the city reluctantly awoke; she had a one hundred and eighty degree view of the park, of the joggers and dog-walkers, of the wanderers and late-for-workers; but most importantly, it was the calm before the storm, as they say, and her immediate surroundings were calm and quiet enough that she could sketch uninterrupted and in relative peace. Most of the school year had already passed and Clarke had only eight weeks left to complete her art assignment for her final year, a collection of pieces that was not only to be seventy percent of her final grade, but that would also decide whether or not she would be chosen to showcase her work in _Illusions_ , an annual gallery exhibition that one of America’s most critically acclaimed art galleries, _The Creative_ , held. She had filled sketchbooks and canvases, but still had not yet completed a single piece, or really even had any solidified ideas, if she was being honest.

Clarke locked the café door behind her but as she headed to the kitchen, she bumped into a chair that had been left down. Adjusting to the dark and looking around, Clarke saw that all of the chairs were down, that the coffee machines had been left on, and that she was going to have to clean up before she could start making the day’s pastries.

The rush of air she expelled on her way to the kitchen was not a sigh, she would argue, just ridding her body of the negative energy to make room for the positive. Had Raven and Octavia been there, they would have called her a liar and perhaps she would have admitted, that, in that moment, she was.

Getting to the kitchen doorway, however, Clarke stopped short. Dressed in a work-standard black polo shirt half hidden beneath a dirty apron, she watched as eyes flicked between a bag of plain flour and a bag of self-raising flour, unsure. The paper that held the hand-written recipe was consulted again but the eyes remained hesitant, unable to make sense of Clarke’s scribbles in the margins and the alterations that covered the page.

She was just about to make herself known when the recipe was put down, a back was straightened, shoulders were set back and the bag of plain flour was picked up and tipped.

Clarke saw it coming but it was too late to say anything. And honestly, she was caught off-guard and was flustered enough as it was; she didn't know what would have come out of her mouth had she tried.

The flour shifted in the bag and came rushing out and into the bowl, a cloud of white powder erupting, dashing up the sides and exploding into an unsuspecting face.

Clarke didn’t realise she had made any noise until a head snapped up and green eyes met hers, and that was it: she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore.

Lexa was still stood at the island in the middle of the kitchen with the flour bag still in hand, blinking rapidly. Clarke laughed as she allowed her bag to slip off her shoulder and rounded the island. She grabbed the cloth draped over the sink, wet it under the warm water and wrung it out.

"You look like a mouse in a flour bag," she said, still laughing and handing the cloth to Lexa.

"It wasn’t supposed to do that," Lexa muttered, taking the cloth and cleaning her face.

It was only when Lexa’s face was mostly clean and the quietness of the hour crept in through the vents that it sunk in and Clarke’s whole body tensed; she was stood in the kitchen with the person who ran the entire company she worked for, not just her place of work, but the chain of cafés and coffee shops, the restaurants and production farms all over the country, and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with herself.

Clarke cleared her throat and her fingers found the edge of her polo shirt, rubbed the material between her fingers.

Lexa either didn’t notice the shift or decided to ignore it, for she carried on talking as if nothing was amiss.

"I never was one for working in the kitchen. Anya was always better at it than me.

Clarke nodded, stiff and hesitant, couldn’t let her eyes meet Lexa’s so looked anywhere else, the sink, the bowl, the mess. Anything but the CEO’s green eyes with white speckled eyelashes that sprinkled flour on top of her cheeks every time she blinked.

"If you’ll excuse me whilst I go to the bathroom and make myself presentable again," Lexa said, returning the cloth to the sink and leaving the kitchen.

With Lexa out of her immediate vicinity, Clarke relaxed only slightly, still chastising herself on how she couldn’t be cool for more than a second around Lexa, how she had been doing so well until she remembered who it was she was with, how pretty she was, how those green eyes did things to her. Which were thoughts she definitely should _not_ have been having, she told herself. It didn’t stop them from approaching the edge of her conscious mind, but she managed to keep them far enough back that she could concentrate on the morning ahead of her.

* * *

By the time Lexa returned to the kitchen, Clarke was in full baking-mode. Having measured the plain flour in the bowl, added baking powder to give it the same effect as self-raising flour, she added the rest of the ingredients to accommodate the amount of flour and had finished the first mixture of the day.

"What can I help with?" Lexa asked.

Clarke reminded herself that the appropriate response was not regarding the situation between her legs and commended herself when she was able to look at Lexa’s forehead and reply, "You can knead the dough and make circles?" with only a slight quiver to her voice and blush about her cheeks. That hadn’t made it out of her mouth quite the way she had said it in her head.

The slight tick of Lexa’s mouth suggested that perhaps she too had thought of an alternative meaning, but she only nodded and moved to the other side of the counter to begin her task.

* * *

By half past five, all sweet and savoury pastries and cakes were made. Some still in the oven whilst others cooled, Clarke and Lexa had found a rhythm between them, admittedly with the slight occasional flinch from Clarke when she felt Lexa’s body heat from their close proximity, but overall they had got into a routine, a dance where they co-existed and coincided, weaved around one another and occupied the same close quarters without stepping on each other’s toes and tripping out of time.

Clarke had managed to almost be completely professional, answering Lexa’s questions and showing her how to prepare the food. She blushed too much when showing her how to fill the doughnuts with jam and far too many indecorous thoughts shoved their way through to the forefront of her brain, but red-cheeked and adjusting her legs once was her only reaction, of which she congratulated herself on.

(Clarke didn’t notice the tops of Lexa’s ears going pink.)

* * *

At quarter to six, just as Clarke picked up a tray of breakfast muffins to put in the counter showcase, she remembered the chair she had bumped into when she first walked through the door.

"Shit."

She dropped the tray with less care than she probably should have and rushed out to the front of the café. So sudden was the shift in her that Lexa automatically closed the oven door on the croissants and followed her out.

"Clarke? What's wrong?"

"I forgot that they didn't clean up last night."

"What?" Lexa asked, watching Clarke turning chairs upside down and putting them on the table tops.

"The chairs were left down, meaning the floor wasn't cleaned and the machines were left on meaning they aren’t clean and the counters and the deli glass and–"

"Yes it was," Lexa said, stepping farther into the room.

Clarke stopped with a chair in mid-air, flustered. "What?"

"I did everything out here this morning: the chairs, the coffee machines." Lexa shrugged. "It’s clean. I promise."

"You...?"

"Shall we put the chair down now?" Lexa asked as she approached with a gentle smile and eased the chair from Clarke’s hands. "I may not be good at baking, but I can clean."

"You did it?"

"Yes."

"But... I came in just before four," Clarke said, still bewildered.

"I spoke to Anya. You do too much. I thought I could help."

"You did it?"

"How about we take the chairs back down?"

Lexa moved away and started putting the chairs on the floor again and with the extra breathing room, Clarke managed to focus and helped out, hoping that her embarrassment wasn’t showing.

"Sorry, Miss Woods."

It seemed that Sunday wasn’t just an anomaly, that she was destined to be clumsy and jumpy, addled and all over uncool and humiliated whenever the CEO was around.

* * *

Just as Lexa was unlocking the front door and turning the sign around to read _Open_ , Niylah phoned to say that she was still sick and wouldn’t be in for her shift at half past six. Clarke tried Echo but it went straight to voicemail, Bellamy’s phone rang and rang without answer, Finn picked up and grunted once before hanging up, and Fox straight-up said she wouldn’t do it.

With no one else to call and both agreeing to it, Clarke and Lexa simply powered on through the morning, getting through the breakfast rush and making it to the slight lull before they would be bombarded at lunch. But twelve o’clock came and went and neither Finn nor Bellamy turned up and neither could be contacted.

Clarke could see the anger in Lexa’s clenched jaw and the fire in her eyes, but when those eyes were turned on her, they softened and the fire lost heat. It emboldened Clarke enough that the awkwardness she had accustomed herself to for the day seeped out of her and she insisted that they could do it, that it would be fine.

"How did you manage by yourself on Sunday?" Lexa asked.

So a notice was put on every table which told customers that staff were off sick and asking for their cooperation: for rubbish to be put in the bins, for china and glassware to be put in the buckets provided, and for a little bit of extra patience to be had.

"Most people are okay with it," Clarke said.

"You know this place best, Clarke. I trust you."

"Thank you, Miss Woods."

The lunch rush was exactly that: a rush. But even as Clarke and Lexa moved quickly on their feet and everything was done with controlled but hurried actions, the dance from baking that morning carried on through to the rest of the day. A free moment saw them taking turns to slip into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, or a drink, or to go to the bathroom; an albeit small but there lull had one of them cleaning tables and loading or unloading the dishwasher; another rush had them calling to each other and working in tandem.

Unnoticed by Clarke, she had gone from calling Lexa "Miss Woods" to calling her by her first name, and the unease Clarke had felt before trickled out of her slowly but surely, enough that by the time the evening rush of after-workers came by, Clarke’s professional but tentative interactions with her big boss had morphed into professional but friendly interactions with a co-worker she was comfortable around.

(Lexa loved it.)

* * *

Both women were relieved when the small hand reached the ten and the front door closed behind the last customer, but with the end of the day jobs to do, it was unspoken that they wouldn’t stop to breathe, just started on cleaning up and closing down, the sooner that that was finished the sooner home time would come.

Rubbish was picked up, bins emptied, tables cleaned, chairs turned, floors swept and mopped, machines turned off, counters wiped, dishes washed and put away, leftovers covered, and when the final light was clicked off, the repaired alarm set and the door locked, the cool night air was welcomed by the overworked and exhausted women.

"Let me take you home."

There was no hesitating, no over-thinking, no stuttering or awkwardness, just a nod and a simple, "Okay."

* * *

"I cannot even begin to apologise enough for today, Clarke."

"It’s okay, Miss Woods."

"No, it’s not. None of this is. You must think me extremely inadequate in the running of this company for a simple coffee shop to be in such disarray, but I assure you this has never happened."

"Miss Woods–"

Lexa looked to Clarke. "Haven’t I earned more than that after today?" Eyes back on the road, she continued, "I think anyone who bosses me around all day and tells me to pour coffee faster and make milk frothier can call me Lexa."

"I–" Clarke could feel her face heat up and her fingers fiddled with the strap of her bag. She stared out of the windscreen and was glad of the darkness, of its ability to hide her discomfort.

But apparently not enough.

"I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you," Lexa said. "But after a day like today aren’t we more than that? Haven’t we surpassed the standard CEO and employee relationship? Passed Go so might as well collect two hundred dollars?"

Clarke’s eyebrows rose. "Are you really using Monopoly metaphors?"

"Yes. It works."

"Hm. No, not really."

* * *

"Anya’s back tonight and I will speak with her tomorrow about the running of Wild Wood. I would like to promise that today won’t happen again, but until we’ve spoken, I can’t do that. Until it’s sorted I will make sure you are paid time and a half, though."

"Miss Woods–"

"Lexa."

"You don’t have to do that."

"I’m the CEO so you have no say."

"Didn’t you just say that that’s irrelevant?"

"Shh."

"But–"

"My company, my rules."

"Okay, Lexa."

"That’s better."

* * *

"What about yesterday and Monday?"

"I spoke to Anya when I got home on Sunday."

"It was Monday morning and wouldn’t it have been three A.M. in Chicago?"

"Semantics. I didn’t care, I needed to speak with her. She called everyone on Monday morning and said that all employees were under observation and staff changes may be made."

"I didn’t get a call."

"You weren’t included."

"Well that’s rude."

"She’s usually very good at scaring people into doing things but the terror seemed to wear off by today."

"The terror?"

"Anya can be very scary."

"Oh, I know."

* * *

"What did Thelonious say?"

"Jaha?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"He didn’t get a say. I terminated his contract on Monday morning. Effective immediately. HR has had lots of complaints. I didn’t know. I think I enjoyed it a bit too much."

"Firing him?"

"I thought I was very good at my job, Clarke. I don’t know how this happened," Lexa sighed.

"You can’t hold every grain of sand, Lexa. Some inevitably fall through your fingers."

"I don’t like sand. It makes sandwiches crunchy."

"Okay."

* * *

"I really am sorry about today, Clarke," Lexa said, stopping the car.

"Don’t be. It happens."

"But it shouldn’t. It doesn’t happen in any of the other businesses under Woods Incorporated. It’s unacceptable."

"Miss Woods, it’s fine. Really. You’re doing something about it now."

"It’s Lexa."

"Okay."

"A day like today may happen again. Until I can get new hires."

"That’s okay. You’re paying me time and a half."

"I’ll get someone else to come in tomorrow morning. Come in for the afternoon shift. Half a day."

"And leave you to do the baking?" An eyebrow quirked and a smirk appeared.

Lexa opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out.

"I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Woods."

The car door closed and Lexa pulled back onto the road as Clarke walked away.

* * *

There was an odd feeling of comfort that Clarke felt as she burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes. She never liked winter. It was too cold and too wet. It hurt her nose and made it hard to grip pencils in numb fingers. But she thought she might like wild meadows at the start of spring; pale green under the blanket of mist.

And if they happened to be the same colour as someone’s eyes, that was purely coincidence.

 


	3. A Disturbance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Non-con.  
> Nothing actually happens! Not really. But what attempt there is is not consensual. It’s not graphic, but there are a few parts that describe what is happening. It begins at “It’s Bell’s fault really” and ends the paragraph before “Everything becomes blurred”. Like I said though, it’s nothing major, but I want to put the warning out there.
> 
> That said, the cabin was amazing and the reconnecting with nature was needed more than I knew but of course my friend already knew that. I liked the early mornings and sunrises; she liked being able to sleep as much as she liked. We compromised: I waited for her to drag herself out of bed and then I dragged her on fifteen mile hikes every day. That there is a loving friendship.
> 
> But, restocked on chocolate salted caramel ice cream, I have returned.

Niylah had phoned to say that her doctor had signed her off work and that she wouldn’t be back until Sunday, so Thursday morning was just Clarke and Lexa again.

Back from Chicago the previous night, Anya arrived perfectly in time for the morning rush and from there the three of them worked through the day. Although easier with three, it was never going to be perfect, especially with so little sleep.

The after-lunch lull allowed Lexa and Anya to clear tables and retreat to the kitchen to talk as they worked. It wasn’t long, though, before they had made decisions and although not easy ones, they were necessary and only temporary. With it obvious that due to their absence both Fox and Echo had made their decision and with no one to even temporarily fill in, it was decided that Wild Wood Café would open at seven instead of six and would close at six instead of ten. It would be a loss of business in the immediate future, but would allow them more sleep and less hours rushing around on their feet.

So on Thursday evening, with all three of them to close up, after Lexa had insisted on driving her home again, Clarke found herself showered and in pyjamas whilst watching mindless T.V. and eating Chinese food with Octavia and Raven at half past seven. It seemed like so long ago that she had done that. She made it to nine o’clock before she called it a night and as she set her alarm for an hour later than usual, Clarke was looking forward to a solid seven hours in bed.

* * *

Albeit the days’ takings weren’t as good as usual, but Friday and Saturday worked well. Sunday saw the return of Niylah, so Anya took the morning off to interview potential new hires and Clarke and Lexa pushed on.

The two had spent the early morning hours in the kitchen and, much to Clarke’s relief, she wasn’t nearly as awkward as she had been in the days before. Yes, she spilt melted chocolate all down the front of her, and yes, Lexa laughed at her, and yes, she still got flustered – who wouldn’t when walking around with a giant brown stain down the front of them and a pretty girl there to witness it? – but the mishap was easily pushed to the side with a replacement apron, and Clarke knew that the warmth in her chest that she carried through the morning with her wasn’t lingering embarrassment at her clumsiness, but rather a lightness she felt at hearing Lexa’s laugh.

She would spill chocolate every morning if it meant hearing that sound again.

* * *

 

Niylah left just before one o’clock whilst the lunch rush was well underway to get to her afternoon study group, which would have been fine had Bellamy and Finn turned up for their shift. Once again Clarke and Lexa were expected to dance in tandem, to step effortlessly together and create an original partner dance without the other couple, to move and glide without another hand to catch them.

But they did it. After only a few days of practice, it was a routine they knew by heart, one which Clarke was happy to dance after she got over the whole CEO-big-boss thing and saw Lexa as more of a friend, someone she could laugh and joke with, someone with whom she was comfortable.

Just after two, the way it always did, the café died down and usually only a few people were left, mostly students who spent hours drinking one cup of coffee so they could use the free Wi-Fi. But today the café had emptied completely and it allowed Lexa and Clarke to get ahead of themselves before the evening was sure to push them back again. It was at this time that Bellamy and Finn decided to stroll through the front door, backpacks slung over one shoulder, with wrinkled clothes and shaggy hair, a ruffled look achieved after a night of drinking and a long morning in bed.

Clarke was the first one to see them as she finished off a customer to-go order, but knew that Lexa would be finished in the kitchen soon enough.

“Hey, Princess,” Finn said as he leaned low over the counter, his eyes dark, roaming from her neck to her thighs, never once looking at her face.

Clarke refrained from tensing and squirming, stopped herself from crossing her arms over herself which she so desperately wanted to do, but she had learned that it only bolstered Finn when she did that, made him cockier, so falsely sure of himself, convinced him completely that she was into him – that everyone was into him. Instead, she turned her back to him and wiped down the already clean surfaces. She could still feel his eyes on her, overt and unapologetic. “You’re late.”

“Aw, c’mon, Clarke, don’t be like that,” Bellamy said from behind Finn. “We’re just a little late. And sorry.”

“I guess I should be happy you’re here at all, right?” Still keeping her back to them.

“That’s the spirit, Princess,” Bellamy said with a smile as he walked towards the kitchen door and disappeared into the small room just to the left for the staff to store their belongings.

“It’s Bell’s fault really,” Finn smirked, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to the rest of the room and rounding the counter. He stopped far too close to Clarke. “He couldn’t get his jeans up. Had to get him down before he could get them up, if you know what I mean.” She could feel his body behind her, his breath on the back of her neck.

She tried to side-step him but his palms were flat on the counter either side of her. She could have shoved her way through, but Finn knew her, however much it disgusted her to admit it, or at least knew a part of her. He knew that she wasn’t one for brash words and forceful movements; he knew that she would sooner take what was given than make a public display at work. She wondered if he knew her fear in that moment and that, more than anything else – more than his arms around her, his body against her, his knowledge of her quiet work exterior – had her trapped.

“We thought we should get to work after that, already late enough, you know? And you know what else that meant?” He pressed against her fully, forcing her against the edge of the counter that he now gripped. “That neither of us sorted me out.” She felt his hardness, his exhale on her neck as the pressure started to relieve him. “But that’s okay, right? It’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here. And your body’s all I need. Two minutes and I’ll be good to go. We did it before, remember? So you’ll do it again, right?”

“Finn–” _No_. Clarke’s voice broke and she couldn’t swallow. She looked towards the kitchen, praying Lexa or Bellamy would walk back in, hoping to hear the ring of the bell above the door, but nothing happened. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

“That’s it, baby, call my name,” he whispered, spurred on. “Real quick. Two minutes.” His movements were slow and jolty as he started an unhurried grind.

Everything became blurred, a mass of loud clashes and sharp voices, but nothing was clear, a cacophony of underwater clamour. All she knew was that one second Finn was there and the next he was gone: his hands, his breath, his hips, all ripped away from her.

The suddenness of the movement startled her, shocked her eyes open and into awareness of her surroundings, of the closeness of another body, not harsh and choking, but soft and gentle.

Lexa was talking to her, but Clarke couldn’t hear the words, only the voice that said them; the soft, soothing tones and calming presence beside her allowed Clarke to focus a bit more.

“Focus on me, Clarke, focus on my voice.” Lexa was stooped in front of her and was looking up at her but keeping a distance, an unthreatening stance either intentional or not, Clarke didn’t know. She managed a small, shaky nod.

“That’s it. Just listen to my voice.”

Clarke didn’t realise she was doing it until she felt Lexa’s body heat, didn’t realise she had stepped towards her and was leaning into her until she had already done it. It took her too long to notice her hands grasping the material of Lexa’s apron in her fists, and with her response of pulling back and away from her boss too delayed, Lexa had already stood up to her normal height and brought a hand up to Clarke’s back, making gentle circles and comfortingly whispering into Clarke’s hair where her head rested on Lexa’s shoulder, calming and steady. The labels of ‘ _CEO_ ’ and ‘ _employee_ ’ didn’t matter then, only one friend being there for another.

She slowed her breathing down to meet the rise and fall of Lexa’s chest and caught the hint of something that surprised her. Clarke thought that Lexa would wear something strong, maybe spicy, perhaps cinnamon or even sandalwood, but what Clarke could surprisingly smell was undoubtedly floral underneath the sweet pastry, jam and coffee; a femininity that Clarke hadn’t quite pinned to Lexa but now that she had sensed it couldn’t _not_ see Lexa wearing it.

Lexa’s hand stopped its circles on Clarke’s back and migrated to her hip, gave one reassuring squeeze, and that was all the warning Clarke had before Lexa brutally and utterly _ripped_ into Finn. Her voice was strong and powerful, held an uncompromising fierceness Clarke could never imagine coming from anyone else, and not once did Lexa’s professionalism waver, not once did she hesitate or stumble or use inappropriate words frowned upon in the workplace, not once did she allow her authority to be the slightest bit questionable.

Warm and dulcified, from where she was Clarke could see Bellamy seething, cradling his right hand with his left to his chest, split and swelling knuckles only making sense when she saw Finn: his face and tee-shirt a splatter of blood, from his eyebrow to his nose to his lip. All of the colour had drained from his face and he was visibly shaking; his eyes flitted often to the exit but there was a counter between him and the door, and Bellamy and Lexa standing in either counter gaps.

Clarke concentrated on Lexa again, on her jaw moving as she destroyed everything Finn was, on her laboured breaths, on the gentle hand resting on her hip but her slowly tightening fingers and her slowly tensing body the angrier she became at the man who was now a terrified little boy. Once again she closed her eyes and allowed the water to fill her ears and drown the sounds, the sight of Finn making her nauseous.

* * *

 

Clarke heard the violent ringing of the bell above the front door and although the water ebbed from her mind, she found herself unable – or subconsciously unwilling, perhaps – to open her eyes.

“You may be my boss, but I will beat the shit out of that scumbag.” It was Anya.

“As much as you and I both want to, that’s a law suit just waiting to happen,” Lexa sighed.

Anya scoffed and Clarke could hear her moving about, making sounds Clarke had become accustomed to over the past few years of working there but could not now place. “If I ever see him again, I will not think twice about using him as a human punching bag. Blake’s such a lucky bastard.”

“Bellamy just lost his job over it.”

“He was going to lose his job anyway.” Clarke could hear Anya’s eye roll.

“I don’t care. What’s done is done and those two are gone.”

“No way are you leaving it at that,” Anya said, “It’s you.”

“Of course I’m not,” Lexa replied, her hand returning to Clarke’s back and starting up small circles again, “But it’s not entirely up to me.”

Clarke sensed the moment they looked towards her because Anya stopped adjusting the room and Lexa held her breath.

The beeping of the dishwasher could be heard clearly in the empty café and with a stated, “I’ll be out back,” Anya retreated to the kitchen.

Clarke felt more than heard Lexa’s long exhale and soft, “Clarke?”

It took her a second to find her voice, but even then it was no more than a small, “Hm?”

“Are you– I mean, of course you’re not but did– Do–” Lexa stumbled over the words. “What do you need?” she finally settled on.

“I don’t know.”

It was strange. Clarke didn’t feel the way she thought she should: small and broken, in shock, traumatised. Instead she felt... relieved. Relieved that Finn hadn’t been able to do much more than move his hips a few times ; relieved that his karma had come back around; relieved that he was now gone. She felt okay, as weird as that was after what had happened, and she was almost certain it had something to do with the girl holding her.

_Holding her. Lexa. Her boss. Oh God._

Clarke opened her eyes and cleared her throat, awkwardly extracted herself from Lexa and turned back to the counter without making eye contact, picked her cloth up again and continued cleaning as if she had never stopped.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re _sorry_?” Lexa was incredulous. “No. _No_. You do not get to be sorry. Not for that vile, disgusting, _repugnant_ piece of shit, not for needing a friend, not for anything,” Lexa ranted and paced the small space behind the counter: a few strides one way before turning, taking a few strides the other way, and repeating.

Clarke turned to face her.

“That’s not– _God_ , Clarke,” Lexa shook her head. “You don’t be sorry! You don’t–”

Clarke watched the thunder roll and violent storms cloud green eyes. She watched fists clench so tightly it looked painful and a jaw tense so hard she was sure it would crack.

The barely contained anger emanated out of Lexa’s every pore and Clarke realised that she hated it; she hated the distress Lexa was in, wanted to bring back the rare smiles and laughter.

When Lexa turned and took a breath to begin her venting again, Clarke reached out and grabbed her arm. Lexa automatically spun on her heel and halted.

“Stop.”

“But, Clarke–”

“Lexa.” Clarke’s thumb smoothed the skin beneath it. “I’m okay. Really. You got there in time. I promise.”

“It didn’t look that way,” Lexa murmured, her frown still in place but the storm looked like it was starting to pass.

Clarke’s thumb continued. “I’m fine. I just feel a bit icky. Nothing a shower won’t fix.”

Lexa was still hesitant, her eyes unsure. The clouds lingered.

“It’s Finn. He’s always been a dick. And now look? He got what he deserved.”

The skies lightened and Lexa’s mouth twitched. “Bellamy broke his nose.”

Clarke laughed, happy both that Octavia had dragged her brother into helping her practice kickboxing with her and that her Lexa – not her Lexa, just the Lexa she loved – _liked_ – _knew, Goddammit_ – was returning.

“Would you like me to take you home?” Lexa asked, finally seeming to accept Clarke’s insistence that she was okay.

“We’re not finished today,” Clarke said, only now looking up and noticing the blinds down and the _Open_ sign on the door flipped to _Closed_.

“Yes, we are.”

“But–”

“I’m the CEO, Clarke, don’t argue with my decisions.”

“Okay, boss.”

“So. Home?”

“What about closing up?”

“Anya can do it, she had today off.”

“I heard that!” Anya shouted from the kitchen. “And I was busy,” her voice grew louder as she exited the kitchen, “interviewing people.”

“Like I said,” Lexa said, mirth in her eyes, “lazy as anything.”

Anya whipped Lexa with the towel she was using to dry her hands as Lexa passed to collect their belongings, and chuckled at the small yelp it emitted.

“Ready?” Lexa asked, handing Clarke her bag.

Clarke nodded. “Yeah.”

* * *

Neither Raven nor Octavia had been at home when Lexa had walked Clarke up to her apartment.

_“I’m fine, Lexa.”_

_“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Clarke. I’m simply walking you to your door.”_

So Clarke had invited her in. She didn’t know what had possessed her to do it, but the words were out of her mouth before she could filter herself. And Lexa being the kind and caring person she was, and probably feeling obligated after the whole Finn-debacle, Clarke thought, had said yes.

(Clarke didn’t see Lexa nervously wipe her sweaty palms on her trouser legs as Clarke led the way to the kitchen.)

* * *

 

Once settled on the sofa, it surprisingly didn’t take them long to relax into each other’s’ company and let the conversation flow. It appeared their rhythm from work transferred to their interactions outside of work too, after the initial awkwardness had worn off some.

“No!” Clarke said, struggling to get the word out between laughter.

“They brought her home and she insisted that she had to go back because she only had until midnight to find her poodle before the tornado would take her home again and if she missed it she would turn back into a butterfly.”

Clarke broke at that: head thrown back and a deep belly laugh to accompany it. She couldn’t handle the thought of Anya – her mostly scary, tough boss Anya – dressed in a bright pink tutu with matching wings, a wand and a tiara, attempting to ballet dance through the late night streets in heels in search of an imaginary dog whilst being chased by the police.

“She had got so many fairy tales mixed up and she didn’t remember a thing in the morning, just stumbled down the stairs and collapsed into my Mum groaning about her head. Mum and Dad took so many photos. She was mortified.”

“That’s why she’s so careful with our drinks,” Raven exclaimed laughing, poking her head in between Clarke and Lexa’s, them only then noticing how close they had got. “Oh, I am never letting her live that one down! Ever. You, Lexa Woods, are golden,” and she planted a kiss on Lexa’s cheek before walking to the kitchen.

* * *

 

Lexa’s sister phoned and she excused herself to the kitchen just as Raven set their mugs on the coffee table and jumped up next to Clarke.

“So,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, “You and Lexa, huh?”

“We’re just friends.”

“Who want to bone.”

“No, just friends.”

“Who want to bone.”

“Raven–”

“I’m a literal genius, Clarke. I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh, but I am. Why are you here, by the way? I thought there was like, no staff and your selfless self decided you don’t need sleep, or food, or even basic hygiene and were slaving away working all those hours?”

Clarke hit Raven’s arm. “Asshole.”

“But seriously.”

“Um. Yeah,” Clarke stalled. “There was just a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Genius, Clarke,” Raven said, pointing at herself. “I’ma need more than that.”

So in as little detail as possible, Clarke told Raven what had happened with Finn, and what with Raven already hating him after what he did to them, she was about ready to explode.

“I am going to kill that motherfucker,” she fumed, standing up as sitting down was no longer good enough to let out her anger. “I will kill him. Murder him. I will hack his penis into tiny pieces with a bread knife bit by bit and feed it to him and then I’ll hack his body up until he dies of pain and I’ll hide the pieces. I’m a genius, Clarke, no one will find that perverted, diseased little fucktard and his only memory will be of me fucking him with a hot iron poker.”

Lexa stopped short in her returning to the living room and looked at Clarke.

“She’s ranting about Finn,” Clarke explained.

“Oh. Right.”

Raven hadn’t noticed Lexa back, just kept on pacing and ranting and threatening the disembodiment of Finn in some ways that made both Lexa and Clarke grimace and tense up at just the thought of them.

* * *

 

Octavia got home whilst Raven was still going and after Raven not so delicately filled her in, Octavia joined in with Raven’s long descriptions about what they were going to do to Finn. Clarke began to worry and wondered if her friends were no longer just saying things in anger but really meant it. Lexa, although slightly disturbed, was just glad that Clarke was surrounded by her two best friends who obviously loved her, and could see that even if she wasn’t okay now, however much Clarke argued that she was, with Raven and Octavia around she would be fine.

Whilst Raven and Octavia continued, Lexa decided to leave and Clarke walked her to the door.

“Thank you for the tea, Clarke,” Lexa said, stopping in the open doorway.

“Any time.” Clarke found that she meant it.

“That was Anya earlier, by the way. Phoned to say that she’s hired twelve new people.”

“That’s a lot of people.”

“It’s the necessary amount of people. I really don’t know how I missed how bad Wild Wood was. How Anya didn’t know.”

“Anya runs around the country to all of your cafés. She relied on Jaha to keep her updated, right?”

“He was not a good manager.”

“No. But none of that matters. It’s sorted now. Just a bit of training to do.”

Lexa stood up straighter, her shoulders back and her voice hardened, although its soft edges remained. “All new employees have at least six months’ experience so no training in the making of drinks or serving of customers will be necessary at all, I assure you, Clarke. Only those starting at four A.M. will need assistance to ensure they follow the recipes correctly and can complete the required amount of baked goods to a high standard and before opening.”

The sudden appearance of CEO Lexa startled Clarke. Before, it may have intimidated her, flustered her into a stumbling mess again. Now, though, she found it turned her on far more than it should have – not that it should have at all. She just hoped Lexa couldn’t notice it.

“Yes, boss,” Clarke smirked.

Those words relaxed Lexa once again. “That does mean the café is back to normal hours tomorrow but also that shifts will be shorter – shorter than they were before all of this.”

“Twelve new people and shorter shifts. Does that mean my hours’ll be cut?” Clarke asked.

“The hours you’ve been doing recently? Yes. The hours you did before? That’s your choice. Anya will get everyone to write down the number of hours they want to work each week and what days and shifts they would prefer. She’ll see what she can do and there will be a set but flexible schedule to hopefully suit everyone.”

“You really are a good boss, huh?” Clarke smiled.

“I dropped the ball on this one, Clarke,” Lexa said seriously.

“So you dropped some sand and had to eat crunchy sandwiches for a while,” Clarke shrugged, “It’s only temporary.”

Lexa smiled, all hints of her professional authority gone.

“Thank you, Clarke.”

“Any time, Miss Woods.”

Clarke watched Lexa walk down the hallway and open the door to the stairwell. And if Lexa happened to look her way one last time and their eyes happened to meet, and if their cheeks warmed and muscles hurt from taming the smiles that wanted to overtake their faces, they both pretended they had no idea what it meant.

(They both knew exactly what it meant.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t plan on writing the scene with Finn; all that was supposed to happen was Bellamy and Finn getting fired. I was in two minds as to whether to keep it or scrap it and start again, but my friend said to keep it, go with it and stop questioning myself. So really I am not to blame for you reading that scene at all, she is.
> 
> Have an extra scoop of ice cream to make up for the horrible scene.


	4. A Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that I have no writing programmes on my computer, so after typing a chapter up on a note page, I walk four miles to the library (because the bus is expensive and money is in short supply after bills) where I add the punctuation in and check my grammar, then post the new chapter, and then I walk four miles back home. So although in an ideal world I would post weekly, in the real world the chances are that I won’t be able to do that.
> 
> There is no Lexa and Clarke interaction in this chapter because I started to write Clarke, Octavia and Raven and then I couldn’t stop. However, it is necessary.

Lexa had left a little after six and even after a long, hot shower, Raven and Octavia were yet to calm down, so still not quite feeling like eating, Clarke retreated to her bedroom for some space. She hadn’t had that since Tuesday in the park; hadn’t had the time between working and sleeping to simply sit and be, to observe the world through the eyes of the artist in her and find the abstract beauty in everyday life: in the laughter of a baby, the wonder of a child, the frowns of teenagers in place more for the sake of expectation than for authenticity, the rushing lives of adults as they try to cram too much in and get through life as fast as possible, and the slowing of the elderly as they try to draw out and appreciate every moment they have left because life passed by too quickly.

Clarke felt the relief flow through her as she closed the door on her friends and breathed in the emptiness of the darkness for a moment. She lay on her bed with only the flickering streetlight outside her window to occasionally illuminate her room for a second or two before returning her sanctuary to darkness.

She watched the shadows appear and tried to make them into objects, into faces, into anything that might inspire her art pieces that were due in just seven weeks, and that even after seven months only existed somewhere outside of herself, somewhere in the universe that she couldn’t quite see and couldn’t quite reach; somewhere with which she knowingly coexisted but had unknowingly allowed to stagnate in her absence whilst she juggled work and friends and family, and when she tried to get back could not find her way.

She switched the light on, picked up the sketch book sitting on her bedside table, and started to draw. She had no sense of direction, no destination, just followed the natural lay of the land and watched the lines appear in front of her. One half of a pair of lips appeared, half a nose, an eye, and by the time Clarke realised whose face she was drawing, she had already finished the grey-scale shading and could almost feel the single eye on the page watching her, staring at her, knowing her. She couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like had she drawn both eyes or worse still, had the light green pencil been in reach.

She flipped the page and started again, concentrated on what she was creating. Started sketching her desk but changed her mind when she started imagining herself bent over it with a certain someone taking her from behind. Managed to draw part of the painted mural on her door but had to stop when all she could see were her hands pinned above her head and a hand moving in her underwear. Got only a few strokes in of drawing her desk swivel chair before she saw herself balanced on the edge – both the literal and figurative kind – with her head tipped back, mouth open, legs draped over shoulders, and green eyes staring up from between her thighs.

After that she just drew animals. They would be no help to her final collection, but it was the safest thing she could think of.

* * *

A knock on the door interrupted Clarke’s fruitless attempts at figuring out her art final. She looked up to see Raven poking her head through the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Course." Clarke dropped her sketch book and pencil onto the floor and moved as far to one side of the single bed as she could, glad of the break.

Raven stepped fully into the small room with three beers in her hands. "I come bearing gifts."

She joined Clarke on the narrow bed, handed one bottle to Clarke, kept one for herself, and placed the third one on the bedside table. They both took a sip of the cool beverage and let out a collective sigh as they sunk deeper into the mattress.

"Definitely needed, huh?" Raven asked.

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Rae, you don’t need to keep asking."

"Because me and O really will go and hunt him down. Don’t think we don’t remember all those medieval torture devices we learnt about in school. Easily replicated, might I add."

"Because of the whole genius thing, right?"

"Now you’re getting it." Raven clinked her bottle against Clarke’s and took another swig. Clarke laughed and followed suit.

They sat in silence for a while before Octavia tumbled through the door and threw herself onto the bed and on top of its occupants.

"Oof!"

"O–!"

"Ow! That’s my hip-"

"Jesus- move your _elbow_!"

"Get your ass out of my face!"

"Control your limbs, woman!"

After a lot of manoeuvring and flailing, Octavia finally wedged herself in between Clarke and Raven with a satisfied smile and a small, happy "heh". Raven passed her the third beer.

"Thanks." She took a big gulp. "So, what are we talking about?"

"How big your fat ass is," Raven joked, nudging Octavia which resulted in a domino effect, toppling Clarke off the other side of the bed.

After the thump of Clarke hitting the floor, there was a small pause before Octavia and Raven broke into laughter. Clarke scowled as she noticed half of her beer had spilt onto the carpet. She righted herself and looked at the duo on the bed, and the sight of Clarke frowning and pouting, of her grumpy face in place, caused Raven and Octavia to collapse into one another as they roared with the hilarity of Clarke’s misfortune.

Clarke staggered back onto the bed and gave the still giggling women a shove, but other than Raven teetering on the edge for a second, nothing happened.

"Assholes," Clarke muttered and took a large gulp of beer.

The trio sat drinking and enjoyed the presence of each other quietly until Octavia left and brought back three new bottles to replace the now empty ones.

"So," Octavia began once she squeezed into the middle again, and Clarke could tell from her smirk that she wasn’t going to like what came next, "You and Lexa, huh?"

Clarke groaned as Octavia and Raven ‘cheers’ed and drank.

"But seriously, Griff, if I had walked in five minutes later you would have had her on the sofa," Raven said.

"Nu-uh. Lexa’s a total top," Octavia argued.

"No way. Not a chance. Maybe a service top, but she’s definitely a messy bottom."

"Guys, seriously, can you stop? That’s my boss you’re talking about."

"Yeah, who you would already be fucking had you come out with us," Octavia said.

"What?" Clarke asked, confused.

"Lincoln’s best friend, tall, brunette, hot, totally your type. Ring any bells?"

"Wait. Anya’s sister? Lexa’s who you’ve been trying to set me up with for the last year?"

"But you were all, ‘I don’t want to be the fifth wheel while you all eye-fuck each other all night’ even though you would have been doing the same with Lexa," Raven said. "Had you come out with us, you probably would’ve been doing actual fucking all night."

"Why would you set me up with my boss?"

"Anya’s your boss, Clarke," Raven said. "Besides, work sex is hot."

"Please tell me you haven’t."

"Okay, Clarke. I haven’t."

"Raven. Tell me you haven’t had sex at the café where I work."

"Okay, Clarke, I haven’t had sex at Wild Wood café where you work and I haven’t been on the table whilst Anya–"

"No!" Clarke slammed one hand over one ear and leaned her head to one side to try to - unsuccessfully - block the other ear with her shoulder. Stupid beer in her hand. "No, stop. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know."

Clarke removed her hand and shivered at the thought of where Raven and Anya had been in that café.

"It was actually the kitchen work bench."

Octavia burst out laughing and Raven chuckled whilst Clarke gagged.

* * *

"O?"

Finished with their fourth beers, the weight of the day started taking its toll during the third and the three women now laid on the small bed with the familiar splaying hair and tangled limbs that they had been accustomed to since elementary school.

"Hm?"

"Why are you still here?"

"What?"

"Why do you still live here?"

"Are you drunk?"

"No, just wondering."

Their voices were quiet and slow, slurred by beer and the night.

"Why wouldn’t I live here?"

"’Cause you’ve been with Lincoln for two years. ’Cause he’s asked you to move in with him lots of times and you love him. You’re stuff’s all at his and you stay there mostly. But you’re still here."

"Maybe I’m not ready."

"You’ve been ready since you met him."

"It happens when it happens," was Octavia’s reply.

"Rae?"

"Clarke?"

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Didn’t Anya hint at you two getting a place together?"

There was a pause before Raven responded. "I mean, yeah. But, like, later. When we’re serious, y’know?"

"It’s been a long time. You say ‘I love you’. It’s serious."

"It’s only been eight months, Clarke."

"You said you’d marry her."

"I was drunk and missed her. It meant nothing."

Clarke fell silent and the only sound was the occasional passing of cars and the teenagers who loitered on the street corner with sentences made up of shouted swear words and laughter that was too forced to be real.

"I’d be okay, you know," Clarke whispered into the night.

"Clarke–"

"I know you think I wouldn’t, but I would. I’d find somewhere, find housemates or a spare room somewhere. You don’t have to stay here because of me."

"Clarke–"

But Clarke carried on. "Because I know you do." In the darkness it was easier to say what they all knew but never mentioned. In the dark, she sounded so small and sad.

She wished that she wasn’t.

"You don’t need to live in a place like this. It’s horrible and a bit scary sometimes but cheap and I have no choice. But you do. You earn enough to be able to live somewhere nice and move in with Anya and Lincoln, but instead you stay here because I can’t do that. Because I can’t afford anywhere else and I don’t have anyone to move to anyway."

"Clarke–"

"But you don’t need to put your lives on hold for me. You don’t need to stay here because if you go I won’t be able to afford rent. You don’t need to stay because I’m stubborn and won’t live somewhere where I can’t pay the same amount as everyone else. You don’t need to not be happy just because I’m not. You can go, you can be happy and live your lives. I know you do it for me, but you don’t need to. I’d be okay."

Octavia searched for Clarke’s hand amongst the covers and entwined their fingers, did the same to Raven.

"You are our family, Clarke," Octavia said, "and family always comes first. Before girlfriends or boyfriends or nice apartments. You _are_ our happiness and if you’re not happy then we aren’t either."

"Sorry," Clarke mumbled and tried to pull her hand free, but Octavia held on strong.

"And it’s not something you get to apologise for either. We know you’d do the same for us and it’s not a burden or something we resent you for. We do it because we want to."

"It’s not like we’ve looked at other places," Raven said. "This place has kind of grown on me."

Clarke scoffed.

"No, really! There’s... character. I like the squeaky floors and the faulty heating that decides to stop working completely and then decides to never turn the fuck off and refuses to let me fix it properly."

It started as a small chuckle, but gained momentum the more Raven talked.

"And the windows! I can safely say that I know no one will break them partly because we live on the third floor, partly because they’re not even glass, just thick, almost see-through plastic if you squint, and partly because of the bars across them. And the fifty thousand fucking locks we have on our door? It’s so reassuring to know no one will get in unless we want them to."

The streetlight outside the window decided to come back on and Clarke was laughing so hard, and in the orange light they all pretended that the wetness of her cheeks were not tears streaming down her face as she laughed to cover up her sadness, but was excess laughter that couldn’t escape her mouth so had to find another way to release itself.

* * *

Clarke was roused out of sleep from feeling too hot as Raven snuggled closer into her. She blinked her eyes open and it took her seconds to realise that it was light outside and it was not supposed to be anything but very, very dark when she got ready for work. She started to panic and tried to get out of Raven’s grip, but the more she tried the tighter Raven held on.

"Rae–" she struggled, "I have work. I’m late."

"Anya called," Raven mumbled. "No work. Now sleep."

"Why not? When did she call? What did she say?"

"Ugh." Raven let go and gave Clarke’s shoulder a sleepy head butt. "It’s morning. Go quiz Octavia. She likes morning."

* * *

"Hey, you’re up," Octavia greeted Clarke as she walked into the kitchen – ‘cosy’ according to estate agents. ‘Cramped and confined’ was more appropriate. "Coffee?"

"Please."

Clarke sat at the small table just off the kitchen and Octavia sat opposite with her breakfast as she passed Clarke a mug, their knees knocking.

"Raven said Anya phoned?"

"Yeah, last night. Around ten, maybe? She said you didn’t need to go in this morning because Lexa wants to see you in her office at ten so we turned your alarm off. I was going to come and get you up before I left."

"What about?"

Octavia shrugged. "It’s about time you two met, though. I’ve been trying to set you up for ages. Oh! Maybe she’s going to ask you out! Or you’ll arrive to a candle-lit dinner–"

"At ten in the morning?" Clarke quirked an eyebrow.

"Don’t ruin the moment, Clarke."

"Is it about yesterday?"

"I don’t know." Octavia took another bite her omelette. "Maybe? There’s probably legal stuff to sort out, right?"

Clarke sighed. "Nothing even really happened."

Octavia went to say something but Clarke interrupted her. "I’m serious. It’s nothing that doesn’t happen at a club on a Friday night when the dance floor’s packed."

"Except it wasn’t a Friday night, it wasn’t a club, and it wasn’t a stranger trying to dirty dance with you – you were at work, it was Finn, and he was trying to do a lot more than dance."

"Maybe," Clarke shrugged, "But he literally had no time to do anything before Bellamy and Lexa were there."

"Speaking of my brother," Octavia said as she stood and took her dishes to the sink, "he won’t leave me alone."

As if to make her point for her, Octavia’s phone started to ring again. She cancelled the call.

"And you’re not picking up because...?"

"Um. Hello? He’s been a dick? He kept not showing up for work and left you to do it all and he was screwing Finn the whole time."

"Yeah, but–"

"No buts. He can stew in his guilt whilst it eats away at him. He deserves it. Anyway, I’ve got boxes to pick up before school so I need to go."

"Boxes?"

"I’m going to make a castle and then the kids will make swords and shields. They’re learning about weapons use in battles and wars in history; figured we could re-enact it to make it more fun."

"God, if only Mrs Gallow was like you when we were seven."

"Nope. Not possible. I’m the best drama teacher there is."

"Yeah, I know. No one’s more dramatic than you."

Octavia gasped with a hand on her heart. "You wound me! And to think I made you coffee."

"Better go or you’re army won’t have a castle to protect."

"I’m coaching hockey practice after school but I’ll be back by five. You, me and Raven tonight? I’ll pick up food on the way back?" Octavia called as she walked to the front door and put her shoes on.

"No Lincoln tonight?" Clarke asked as she followed.

Octavia hesitated where she was zipping her boot up.

"O, we’re okay, you know that, right? Go and be with Lincoln. Go and tell him you’ll move in – officially – and celebrate. You’ve waited long enough."

Octavia still looked unsure so Clarke picked her bag up off the floor and opened the front door.

"Go and show seven year olds how to fight and hit balls and then go and tell your boyfriend the good news."

"Really?" Octavia asked slowly, but still couldn’t stop the smile that started to grow.

"Yes, really!" Clarke laughed.

She hoped Octavia didn’t look past that.

Octavia grabbed Clarke in a tight hug. "Love you, Griff."

"Love you too." Clarke pushed Octavia away and out of the door as she handed over her bag. "Now go before you’re late!"

As Octavia laughed on her way down the hall, Clarke thought she sounded lighter.

And as she headed to her bedroom to wake Raven and tell her to move in with Anya like she knew she wanted to, a weight settled itself firmly in Clarke’s chest and she felt heavy suddenly, as though shackled and having to drag around the burdening chains that forced her into a routine that she never wanted but had no choice but to live, into working long hours just to scrape by, into trying to finish her last year of art school with all of her inspiration hidden away and the inevitable end of university that held such uncertainty in its completion.

But she knew she was doing the right thing: setting her friends free to live their lives free of her faults and misfortunes, her setbacks and mishaps. She knew because it was the hardest thing she had ever done. They had been her safety net for years, they had been there when she fell and had helped her back up again, and she had been so selfish to allow them to put their lives on hold whilst she stumbled along trying to find her way.

It hurt her; the pain burned white inside of her, but seeing Octavia skip down the hallway and seeing Raven (after much insistence on Clarke’s part and reluctant acceptance on Raven’s) jumping out of bed and phoning Anya with a huge smile on her face hurt more, because she knew that she was the reason those things hadn’t happened sooner.

Getting into the shower to ready herself for a meeting that she was completely unprepared for, Clarke felt the familiar feeling of the world as she knew it slipping from her fingers, a feeling that broke her years ago and crushed her into small fragments of herself.

She wouldn’t allow that to happen again, she resolved, as she stepped out of the shower.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t survive it a second time.


	5. The Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an almost-five-thousand word chapter as a thank you for your continued reading, kudos and comments.
> 
> I have managed ‘apartment’ for the British ‘flat’ and ‘elevator’ for the British ‘lift’. It hurts a little bit to write it. Please send ice cream to heal me.

Clarke was stuck to the curb. Not literally, but she felt frozen to the spot, unable to move from the awe she felt, perhaps, or it could have been intimidation, or maybe shock, but most probably due to a combination of all three.

When Clarke had rattled off the address Anya had told Raven to the driver and they had started off, she hadn’t thought anything of it; only that her fare would be covered by the _Woods Inc._ company and that she had forty minutes to relax and watch the world go by. In her apprehension, she failed to acknowledge the fact that the car had been waiting for her when she left the building to head for the bus at nine o’clock, forgot that taxi drivers didn’t wear black suits and open the door for you, didn’t notice the sleek design, leather seats, tinted windows and lack of advertising lettering on the exterior.

That would have been her first clue.

Her head hurt a little bit, a small ache behind her eyes that she hoped would disappear before she arrived at the address she was to meet Lexa. Clarke was ignoring the big upheaval that would come sooner rather than later when Octavia and Raven stopped calling the apartment home and stopped paying rent and she stopped seeing them so often, and was keeping her head up and looking forward, deciding to take each moment as it came because she knew that if she tried to do anything more than that she wouldn’t make it through the next hour, let alone the day or the week.

And everything had been fine. She had relaxed enough – not completely because an official meeting with the CEO of the company you work for, regardless of how unprofessional you have both been at times, will do that to you – during the forty minutes in the taxi to be ready to brace herself or what came and she had allowed her mind to take time for itself, to blur out of focus, to gaze at the world passing her by but not see it.

Had she seen the gradual changing scenery passing by outside of the window – the buildings becoming bigger, bolder, taller, shinier, less structural and more glass – that would have been her second clue.

The moment the car stopped, the door opened seemingly by itself. She paused and then thanked the driver, half expecting him to call her out about not paying, but he never took his eyes off the road, simply nodded once in recognition that she had spoken.

Uncertain, she exited the car and looked around her. What she saw caught her breath in her chest and she could feel her eyes widen and her jaw go slack.

She knew _Woods Inc._ They owned a small chain of cafés and restaurants around America with Anya overlooking the former and Lexa overlooking the latter whilst also being CEO. She knew that. She thought that was all there was to know.

But looking up, her head tipping back to look at the huge glass high-rise looming over her with large white letters reading WOODS INC. across the very top, told her that she definitely did not know _Woods Inc._ ; that really, she knew nothing at all.

That perhaps _Woods Inc._ owned a chain of cafés and restaurants that was a bit bigger than ‘small’ after all.

Maybe, had she researched the company, had she taken note of the signs that she had been given on the journey to meet Lexa, then maybe she wouldn’t have been so completely caught off-guard.

"Miss Griffin?" Clarke looked around and saw a big hunk of a man stood just behind her. He would have been terrifying with his long, dark dreadlocks and facial hair were it not for his kind smile, his warm brown eyes, and his arm extended towards the revolving doors of the building. "Shall we?"

Clarke nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.

The man allowed her to lead the way but she stopped short once again when she was on the other side of the door.

Everywhere was spotless. The interior walls were a dark mottled grey, the trimmings all stainless steel, and the glass walls caused the daylight to reflect off the polished floors, giving the lobby a kind of ethereal feel to it. It was the people within the building, however, that threw Clarke off. The interior was predictable of a building so grand, but the people were a mixture of suits and briefcases, jeans and tee-shirts, khaki trousers and flip flops, white lab coats and glasses, and they ranged from what Clarke assumed to be young twenties to those who no longer counted the years behind them.

The man gently cleared his throat and placed a hand on Clarke’s elbow to lead her farther.

She flinched away from his touch.

It was unintentional and she wasn’t even aware that she was doing it until she had done it. She felt fine – that she was aware of – but she supposed she hadn’t thought about what she subconsciously thought and felt, what knowledge her instincts had recorded and stored away from the incident with Finn to keep her safe and her heart rate steady. She supposed, given fight or flight, her body had chosen flight.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry."

The man had taken a step away and gave a small smile. "First time?" Clarke nodded. "It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," Clarke breathed. "I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t... _this_."

"Well, having a friendly face in the crowd helps." He held out his hand. "I’m Gustus."

Clarke didn’t hesitate to meet it with her own, previous reaction dismissed. "Clarke."

"Well, Clarke, how about we take the long way up to give you a little time to adjust? You’ve got fifteen minutes until your appointment and Miss Woods runs a tight ship here."

"That sounds good."

Gustus led her past the front desk, away from the main security scanners and towards a smaller security check that was situated to the far side of the lobby where her belongings were scanned and she walked through the body scanner. She picked up her bag, was given a visitor’s pass, and they continued down the small corridor to the single elevator at the end. When the doors opened, the single occupant said hello to Gustus and Clarke was surprised when he nodded in greeting at her too. They stepped inside and Clarke watched as Gustus chose a floor.

"How many floors _are_ there?"

Gustus smiled, humoured by the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who looked like a child wonderstruck by a simple card trick; she looked like she was believing in magic all over again.

"In this building? Fifty in total, including the two basements."

"What do you mean, ‘ _in this building_ ’?"

"Both this building and the one behind it are owned by _Woods Incorporated_."

"Has that one got fifty floors too?"

"No, only three. But the perimeter of the building is much larger than that of this one."

Clarke had no reply, but was saved with the stopping of the elevator.

"After you," Gustus said and followed Clarke out.

They stepped out onto a small carpeted area which became a narrow, linoleum-covered corridor that joined perpendicular onto a wider corridor which they walked along. They turned another corner and the empty halls became busier, suddenly; louder and livelier.

Onwards they walked, Gustus greeting others and others doing the same to them until they passed through two open double doors and the noise reached its peak. Clarke didn’t know where to look.

Although the building was sophisticated and stylish in a way that only the rich can afford, the people in the lobby had seemed to walk with tunnel vision, completely focused ahead of them, moving with such determination that they failed to remember to interact with those around them. Higher up the building, however, the air came alight with laughter and passionate conversations, with jokes and shared experiences. People greeted each other and asked questions. The suits, the jeans, the flip flops, the lab coats, the young and the old all blurred into one wave of a sea of people going about their day. It was like stepping out of one reality and into another.

"Welcome to the twenty-fifth floor," Gustus said with a flourish of his hand.

"I am so confused," Clarke said, surveying the sight in front of her, completely and utterly stupefied.

For Clarke had turned up expecting a casual albeit professional meeting with the CEO of the company she worked for, with the woman who overlooked and managed a small chain of cafés and restaurants. Stood outside of the tall building, Clarke had felt underdressed in her dark jeans, jumper and trainers – no different than she wore to work every day so she deemed it okay – and then calmed when she saw others in similar attire when she walked in. She had remained on edge as she stayed in the dark about what exactly _Woods Inc._ was, and suddenly stood in the doorway of the biggest cafeteria she had ever seen, Clarke couldn’t handle any more.

Gustus guffawed, his hands on his belly, his head thrown back and his loud and hearty laugh carried through the room. His laugh turned heads and attracted eyes but all were surprisingly friendly for obviously such a large company.

"Come on," Gustus said, "Let’s get you something to settle your nerves."

"I’m not nervous," Clarke muttered, following him.

But Gustus just laughed again.

* * *

Giant white chocolate chip cookie in hand – and Clarke meant _giant_ – she and Gustus slowly meandered through the maze of tables and benches.

"It doesn’t matter what department people are in, when it comes to breaks or lunch, the twenty-fifth floor is where everyone comes to if they so choose. And most do."

"But what departments are there?" Clarke asked. "I thought it was just a modest sized business with a few places to eat around America."

"There’s nothing ‘just’ about it, young Clarke."

"Yeah," Clarke said around a bite of cookie, catching the crumbs with a napkin, "I’m getting that."

Gustus smiled again. Clarke wasn’t sure if it was her child-like pout, her naivety, or the hamster-like bulge of her cheeks filled with the cookie.

" _Woods Inc_. owns thousands of restaurants and cafés all around not just America, but Canada as well, and is slowly moving into Europe, providing most of the produce from its own farms."

Clarke choked a bit on her cookie as she swallowed.

"That’s where the company started. But Miss Woods has expanded the company into the sciences." Gustus led them through more tables, out of the double doors and back towards the elevator.

"How do cafés fit into science?" Clarke asked.

"Food is the most important science, isn’t it? Its production, its effects, its uses. And as you can see," Gustus gestured with his hands, "Miss Woods has done a fine job at making it the biggest science of all. _Billions_ big."

* * *

When they were up on the fiftieth floor, Gustus left Clarke on a chair and walked down a hall to where Clarke assumed Lexa’s office was.

"It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice."

A glass of water was put on the table in front of her and Clarke looked up to see the girl who had previously been seated behind the desk smiling down at her.

"I’m sorry?"

"I’m Maya Vie."

It took Clarke’s brain far longer to register the name than she would have liked, but in her defence, it had been a very hectic week. When she did recognise the name, Clarke was mortified. She hastily stood and held out her hand. Maya took it out of habit but with professionalism and Clarke shook it as she rambled:

"Oh my God. You’re Maya. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was late and I was tired and it had been such a long day and–"

Maya’s laugh cut her off. "It’s not a problem, Miss Griffin."

"Clarke."

"Clarke. Honestly, I totally got you."

"But I woke you up and made you get out of bed and–"

"It’s my job as Miss Wood’s assistant. And I never got out of bed, just connected Miss Woods to the call and went back to sleep."

"Really?"

"Yes, Clarke. Now," Maya extracted her hand from Clarke’s grip and ignored Clarke blushing with embarrassment as she picked the glass of water up and put it in Clarke’s hand that wasn’t holding the remaining half of the cookie she had earlier, "take a seat, have a drink, and take a breath. Gustus told me to keep you relaxed."

"I’m not nervous." But she found herself sitting and drinking anyway.

Maya smiled again. "If you need anything, just let me know."

Clarke nodded absentmindedly as she drank more water and Maya went back to her desk flexing her fingers.

* * *

"Haven’t scared you off yet, then," Gustus said upon his return.

"I’m not nervous," Clarke replied as she stood when he approached her.

"I indicated to no such thing." The twinkle in his eye belied his mirth. "But if someone in your situation did happen to be a little on edge, I would tell them that they have nothing to worry about."

"I’m not nervous."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Gustus held out his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Clarke."

Clarke automatically went to return the hand shake but with one hand holding the napkin containing the half-eaten cookie and the other holding the now empty glass, Clarke’s hands just kind of stayed suspended in the space between them for a minute before she and Gustus both dropped their hands with mutual chuckles.

"You, too, Gustus. And thank you."

Gustus inclined his head and smiled before walking back towards the elevator. Clarke watched him go and when she turned back to the room, she found Lexa stood a few paces back from where Gustus had been. Had she been there the whole time? Clarke wondered, suddenly very interested in the blank white wall behind Lexa’s head.

Lexa finished speaking with Maya who left the reception area with a stack of papers before turning to Clarke.

"Miss Griffin." That one utterance sent shivers down Clarke’s spine, a little bit terrified and a lot turned on. Upon removing her eyes off the wall and to Lexa, Clarke knew that it was not Lexa who stood in front of her – adorable, nerdy, beautiful Lexa who rubbed her back and smelled like flowers – but was Miss Woods: cold, calculated, still just as beautiful Miss Woods who wore tight fitted three-piece suits, shook hands firmly, dominated men three times her size and apparently ran a multi-billion dollar company without breaking a sweat. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Had she had a little bit _more_ notice, Clarke thought that maybe that would have prepared her a bit more, that she would have been more relaxed, less on edge, less likely to do or say something embarrassing. But Clarke had had only a few hours’ notice, she was not as relaxed as she had been letting on (although she was fooling exactly no one), and Lexa’s mastery that she exuded in her command turned Clarke into a stuttering puddle right there in the reception area. So Clarke could not be blamed when she thrust her hand out towards Lexa to initiate a hand shake.

Lexa stared at the cookie being offered to her and Clarke stumbled before switching hands. Too far gone already, eyes widening in mortification but too stubborn to acknowledge her grave mistake and embarrass herself even more, Clarke left her hand outstretched towards Lexa for her to do with what she wanted.

Lexa’s eyebrow twitched, as did her lip, but she tamed them and aside from the twinkle in her eye, Lexa’s professional front remained intact. She plucked the glass from Clarke’s hand and rested it on the table before joining her own hand with Clarke’s.

"As I was saying: thank you for coming on such short notice, Miss Griffin."

"Sure," Clarke squeaked out and then Lexa was leading her down the hallway.

Clarke closed her eyes and prayed that she would gather her wits about her soon and gain some semblance of control around the younger but obviously so much more put together woman.

When her eyes flitted down to Lexa’s ass in those tailor-made trousers, the heat in Clarke’s face rose anew. She only hoped it felt worse than it looked.

(It didn’t.)

* * *

The inside of Lexa’s office was as predictable as the rest of the building’s design with its large wooden desk on the left side of the room, its sofa and coffee table on the other side, its bookshelves against the back wall, and its floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk that looked out upon the city that lay before it.

Lexa gestured for Clarke to take one of the chairs facing the desk and rounded to the other side to take her own.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Another water, perhaps?"

"No, thank you." Clarke imagined that her current situation was what it felt like as a child being reprimanded in a principal’s office. She didn’t like it; she felt not just nervous, suddenly, but without control or a steady leg to stand on. Clarke fiddled with the napkin-wrapped cookie in her hands.

"There are a few things I would like to discuss today with you, Miss Griffin," Lexa began. "I would firstly like to start by thanking you. It’s such an inadequate word and I fear anything I say will be mediocre at best, but I would like to express not only my but also Anya’s sincere appreciation for everything you have done for Wild Wood Café and in turn for the company also."

"Am I getting fired?" Clarke blurted, already adding to her mental list of everything she had to do:

_– Finish Art Final._

_– Help Octavia move._

_– Help Raven move._

_– Find somewhere to live._

_– Find money for upfront deposit/rent._

_– Move._

_– Get a new job._

"No," Lexa smile and a small part of the CEO’s stoicism slipped away, "quite the opposite, Miss Griffin. You are the most senior member of staff at Wild Wood. You have taken on the responsibilities of your superior without hesitance or question, and your colleagues look up to you. Out of any of our cafés, I dare say you are our best employee. You are loyal, have excellent customer service, have altered and perfected our original recipes, and have the best intentions and perhaps the best heart out of anyone I have ever met. I would like to offer you a promotion to be the manager of Wild Wood Café."

Clarke’s brain was reeling. "Jaha’s old job?"

"Yes. You would have only one or two extra duties, such as sending time sheets to payroll and a monthly meeting with Anya. Everything else you do already." Lexa paused. "Your hourly wage would increase too, of course."

Clarke couldn’t think. After the morning she had had with Octavia and Raven and the bewilderment she had felt since arriving at _Woods Inc._ , Clarke could barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone string words together to create a response to Lexa’s offer that wasn’t just a huge wheezing exhale of air. Lexa sensed Clarke’s hesitation.

"You do not have to decide now, Miss Griffin. Take some time to think it over and simply give Anya an answer by the end of the week. You will still be a valued member of our team, regardless of the decision you make."

"It’s just–" The wheezing breath Clarke had held in before came rushing out in a ramble of words. "This isn’t long-term, you know? At least I hope it’s not. No disrespect or anything. I mean– it’s been four years, but, like, it’s not forever. I’m in art school. For art. I do art. That’s what I want to do. And I love working at Wild Wood, I do, but it’s only okay for now. It pays the bills for now. But I want to do something more than just ‘okay’." Clarke took a breath. "I want to be more than just ‘okay’," she finished quietly, more to herself than to Lexa.

Lexa was quiet. Clarke could feel her studying her but dared not to look up and meet those eyes. In the week since meeting and if yesterday at her place was anything to go by, they had created something out of a difficult situation; had built the foundations of what looked to be a good friendship, but Clarke could feel all hope drain from her as she once again put her foot in her mouth and ruined another potential good thing in her life.

Lexa’s voice brought Clarke out of her head and away from thoughts of her own labefaction.

"Would you consider..." Lexa trailed off as if still in thought. "Would you consider being manager of Wild Wood temporarily, then, until you no longer wish to hold the position, be it when you leave us or simply because you wish for your current position back?"

"What?"

"You are far too valuable to lose, Miss Griffin. State your terms and I am bound to accept." Lexa leant back in her chair, her eyes focused steadily upon Clarke.

It took her a moment, but Clarke finally felt like her head was above the surface, like she could breathe again, and she finally found her voice.

"I have no terms, Miss Woods. I’ll accept your offer."

"I’m pleased to hear that, Miss Griffin. I will have your new contract drawn up and sent over to Anya by tomorrow." Clarke watched a smile appear, the steel in Lexa’s eyes melt, and her posture deflate just a bit but enough for her to lose her superiority and become the same woman who had sat drinking tea and laughing on Clarke’s sofa the day before.

* * *

Lexa excused herself and returned with two mugs in her hands. She set them down on the desk and made herself comfortable in the chair next to Clarke’s. They both took up their respective mugs and Clarke was thankful of the caffeine.

"There is something else I would like to speak about with you, Clarke."

Something in Lexa’s voice made Clarke tense; her lips closed around the lip of the mug but did not drink, her eyes froze; a deer caught in headlights as she looked at Lexa over the rim of her mug.

"Anya offered but I thought you may be more comfortable if I were the one who spoke with you about it?"

It was spoken with uncertainty, so unlike the CEO, and there was something that sounded like hope in her voice. Clarke brought the coffee down to her lap and rested it on her knee.

"I’m sorry to have to bring it up at all and so soon after its occurrence, but you must understand that I cannot let what happened yesterday go without action being taken." Lexa’s eyes flitted over Clarke’s face and she soldiered on, hurriedly speaking so as to get it over and done with as soon as possible. "As Anya did not witness the event and heard only what I said to Mr Collins, she is unable to write her account. I, however, have written mine and Mr Blake has agreed to write his witness statement also. I hate that you have to relive it, but after raising a formal grievance with the HR team, a detailed account of the– incident," Lexa choked on the word as if struggling to remain passive, "is needed in writing for the situation to be taken further and for legal action to be taken."

Clarke was shaking her head even before Lexa had finished. "No," she said with conviction.

"What do you mean, ‘no’?"

"I’m not going to HR. I’m not reporting it."

"Clarke–"

"I can’t. Lexa, I can’t–"

"Has Finn said something to you? Has he threatened you?" Green eyes glowed.

"No! No, of course not. Just– Nothing happened."

"Clarke–"

"Nothing _happened_."

"Clarke–" Lexa stopped herself, breathed in through her nose and out again before continuing. "What he did cannot be swept under the rug. You cannot possibly be entertaining the idea of not reporting him."

"I’m not entertaining the idea. I’m not doing it." Clarke was taken aback at the fight that had overcome her, so different from whom she had been only minutes before.

"Without you, nothing we say or write matters. Clarke, please, understand that you are needed to take matters further."

"I understand. I do. But it was– harassment at best."

"You seem to misunderstand exactly what constitutes as ‘sexual harassment’. More so, you seem to not understand what constitutes as ‘sexual assault’."

Clarke flinched at the word. "Lexa–"

Lexa stood and walked to the window, looking out at the city. Clarke watched her shoulders rise and fall heavily, watched her fists clench and unclench rhythmically. When she turned back, Lexa’s anger was masked with faux composure, but her eyes gave her away. Clarke watched anger spread like wildfire.

"I will not pressure you or force you into anything, but I would like to ask you – to _adjure_ you – to reconsider, Miss Griffin."

_Back to Miss Griffin_. Clarke felt the fight leave her in a rush. She slumped into the chair, watched the ripples on the surface of her cooling coffee.

Lexa’s feet came into view and then she was crouching down in front of Clarke, the finger tips on one hand resting on the floor to keep her balance and the other hand extending slowly towards one of Clarke’s in both warning and request. When Clarke didn’t move, it landed gently on top of her hand and squeezed.

"Please talk to me, Clarke."

Clarke met worried eyes.

"I’m not lying when I say nothing happened," she started quietly. "Finn’s always been creepy, always looked too long and made stupid comments."

Lexa’s hand tightened instinctually and Clarke turned her own hand over, grasped Lexa’s hand in her own with what she hoped was reassuring pressure.

"He was making comments and then he was right there. I don’t know," Clarke shrugged, "maybe I did something to–"

"Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself," Lexa growled.

Clarke closed her eyes. "I’m not." Opened them again. "I’m _not_. But he’s not like that. Does he say stuff and watch you and make you uncomfortable? Yeah. Does he get around? Yeah. But he’s never forced anyone into anything. Never."

Lexa eyed her curiously. "You sound like you speak from... experience."

Clarke sighed. "We had a thing. Once. Two years ago. He was dating Raven and slept with me and we both kicked him to the curb when we found out. But everything’s always been consensual."

"Except yesterday was _not_ consensual. Unless this is you telling me that it was."

"No, it wasn’t. But–"

"Every time you use that word you make excuses for that– for him."

"Nothing happened. He pushed against me but then Bellamy hit him and that was it. He didn’t _do_ anything."

"Clarke–"

"Please," Clarke breathed.

Lexa watched blue eyes glass over with tears and watched defeat settle deeply into Clarke’s body.

"Okay," Lexa said softly, reluctantly conceding. "Okay. But if you change your mind or need anything, be it time off or just a friend, please come to me. Please don’t keep it all in. Please let me help."

Clarke nodded, withdrawing her hand from Lexa’s to wipe her nose with the back of her hand as she sniffed.

"I will."

* * *

As they sipped their drinks, Clarke watched Lexa repeatedly eye the cookie that sat on the desk. She reached over, broke it in two, kept the smaller part for herself and slid the rest of the cookie across the desk to Lexa.

When Lexa picked it up and bit into it, the small happy noise that arose from her throat had Clarke smiling uncontrollably.

* * *

Cheeks dry and composure reclaimed – or as much as she had had to begin with, which wasn’t really very much – Lexa walked Clarke to the elevator.

"Oh, and Clarke?" Lexa called as Clarke pressed the button for the lobby.

Clarke looked up. "Yeah?"

No longer holding the status of ‘CEO’ and ‘employee’, the women were back to equal footing. The slight tension between them had disappeared completely and the light conversation and ease they found from one another’s company had returned from the previous day.

"I would like it if we could set up a meeting to put together the recipes you have created so we can distribute them across the company. Photocopying would be much more time efficient, but I don’t know if there is anyone but you who could translate your... _annotations_ ," Lexa teased.

"Sure. But it may take a while; I can’t read my writing either," Clarke laughed.

Lexa smiled softly. "I look forward to it."

The elevator doors closed on Lexa’s gentle smile and Clarke’s pink cheeks, both of them wishing for time to pass by faster so that they may see each other once again.


	6. The Old and The New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks! I’m so sorry for the wait.
> 
> The last chapter got mixed reviews and some people seem to have no trust in me. I hope this chapter returns your trust.

Clarke was dropped off outside her apartment building at half past eleven but as the small hand of the living room clock neared the twelve, time saw Clarke stood still, unmoving except for her eyes and the shallow breaths she took.  
  
Clarke roved her eyes around the room, took in the empty places where objects had disappeared and now resided in the boxes piled by the door. She didn’t know what she had thought would happen when she gave Raven the final push, but coming home after only a few hours to an almost-empty apartment had not been it. There were no engineering books tucked under cushions, leaning against furniture, sitting atop any available surface; the array of tools that usually covered the coffee table and kitchen counters were no longer there; the previously full coat rack now held the coats and scarves of only one person.  
  
One bedroom door in the apartment was always left closed for only the single bed that had been there when the occupants moved in remained and other than its occasional use when Octavia stayed, the room was too empty and had left a hole in Clarke’s heart, but pushing the second bedroom door open, the hole seemed to expand and breathing became harder.  
  
_In. Out. In. Out._  
  
The blueprints that lined the walls had been stripped and gave way to the peeling paint they had hidden; the small model planes that had multiplied so slowly over the years due to their owner’s meticulous care when creating them no longer sat upon the windowsill; the furniture was away from the walls, out of place, and the bed lay bare.  
  
_In. Out. In. Out._  
  
Raven’s room was suddenly too small and Clarke felt like she was suffocating. She stumbled backwards and the door fell shut.  
  
_In. In._  
  
She grabbled against the walls, felt her way back to the front door.  
  
_In. In._  
  
Fumbled for the handle. Found the handle.  
  
_In._  
  
Opened the door. Slammed the door. Ran down the hall.  
  
_In. In._  
  
Made it outside. Breathed a stuttering breath in. Felt like she was forgetting something. Couldn’t breathe in any more. The air grew cold, the wind picked up and the cold against her face made her breath get stuck, hitched, before the breath fell out of her.  
  
_Out._  
  
_In. Out._  
  
_In. Out._  
  
Clarke took her phone out of her pocket, clicked the call button with shaky fingers, and waited.  
  
“ _Hello?_ ”  
  
“ _You there?_ ” the voice said when Clarke didn’t answer.  
  
“Are you busy?”

* * *

  
They sat at a small corner table in a dingy coffee shop across from the construction site.  
  
“It’s been a while.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey, you’re fine. Just didn’t know what you were doing. How’s art school treating you?”  
  
“It’s fine. It’s good.”  
  
“How’s it really?” Murphy asked, swallowing another bite of his sandwich.  
  
Clarke sighed. “I have seven weeks to finish my Final. I’ve not even started.”  
  
“What do you have to do for it?”  
  
“Nothing specific. Fourth year’s a free year. We can do whatever we want.”  
  
“Want to paint me? I’ll take my clothes off for you.” Murphy waggled his eyebrows.  
  
“No, thanks,” Clarke laughed. “I don’t need to see that.”  
  
Murphy scoffed. “You would be lucky to immortalise this body. You’d be famous. People would offer you millions to buy a painting of me.”  
  
“Yeah, no, not happening.”  
  
A beat. “Female body, then? I’ve got friends who’ll do it.”

* * *

  
“So everything’s good?”  
  
Murphy nodded. “It’s weird. Emori’s never been one for buying loads but we’ve got a ridiculous amount of stuff already, and we’ve still got four weeks before everything’s finalised. But I guess she wants to be ready, you know?”  
  
“And you don’t?”  
  
“Well, yeah, but you can’t be ready, can you? Having your own kid’s different. Nothing can prepare you for your first kid.”  
  
“I’ve seen you with children, Murphy. You’ll be great.”  
  
“I hope so. Emma’s just– we knew when we saw her, you know? I hate every time we see her and then have to leave her there again. She cries so much when we go.”  
  
“Four weeks and you won’t have to. She’ll legally be yours and you won’t have to leave her again.”

* * *

  
“Christ. Don’t _cry_.”  
  
“I’m _not_.”  
  
“It was just a question. Is it even still a thing?”  
  
“Yes.”

“It is?”

“No, idiot. Yes I will be Emma’s Godmother.”

* * *

  
“I’ve got ten minutes before I have to get back to work, so are we going to talk about the real reason we’re here?”

“It had been a while. I thought we could catch up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“...Bellamy called me.”

Clarke sighed. “He had no right to do that.”

“He didn’t think he should call you and Octavia isn’t picking up. I was the next best thing,” Murphy shrugged.

“So, what did he tell you?”

“Said what happened. You know it all already.”

“It is what it is,” Clarke said, lifting her paper cup and blowing on it, watching the stream rise in front of her face and dissolving up towards the ceiling.

“Clarke, c’mon.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, John. I don’t know what _any_ one wants me to say. Everyone just keeps looking at me as if I’ll break, like I’m already broken.”

“No one’s looking at you like that.”

“You haven’t seen the looks,” Clarke mumbled.

“Clarke–”

“Stop saying my _name_ like that. Everyone keeps saying my name like that. There’s so much fucking _pity_ when everyone says my name.” Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to cry.

Murphy took her hand in his. “No one is pitying you, Clarke. Least of all me. It’s more... not understanding why you’re the only one who doesn’t see why this is a big deal.”

“Because it’s _not_.” Clarke snatched her hand away and wrapped it around her cup.

Murphy brushed his fingers through his hair and sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Why is it that you manage to take care of everyone but yourself?”

When Clarke remained staring at the ripples in her coffee and he got no reply, Murphy continued.

“You always take care of us. Always have. But putting everyone else first all the time comes at a cost, Clarke, and you’re paying the highest price possible. You shoulder guilt that’s not yours to bear, you’re paying off debts that aren’t yours, you work full time but can barely make rent, you’re putting yourself through Uni but failing. You’re always making sure everyone else is happy and you’re killing yourself doing it, but you won’t let any of us help you. You won’t let Raven and Octavia pay more towards bills than you do, won’t let your mum help with tuition, won’t let anyone help you. As if we aren’t all waiting around, hoping you’ll just ask or at least accept a hand once in a while. And now you’re letting that bastard just walk away with a lost job and pristine reputation in case having sexual assault on his record affects his job prospects?” Murphy scoffed. “That’s bullshit, Clarke. Stop putting others first and think of yourself for one fucking second.”

Murphy took deep breaths, his nostrils flaring. Clarke sat stunned, not knowing what to do with herself, never having had her life splayed out in front of her so plainly.

“I... You all picked me up once before,” she whispered. “Why should you have to keep on doing it?”

“Friendship doesn’t work the way you seem to think it does,” Murphy replied. “It’s not about keeping score, about giving and taking the same amount. It’s about being who the other person needs you to be.” Murphy rested his forearms on the table and caught Clarke’s eye. “You’ve been everything for all of us, Clarke. Let us be that for you.”

* * *

  
“It was good to see you,” Clarke said as she and Murphy hugged outside the coffee shop.

“Yeah, you too. I’ll give you a call when I’m off,” Murphy said, releasing Clarke. “We can do something.”

“I’ll let you know what my new shifts are when I know,” Clarke said, burrowing her hands into her coat pocket, the air still chilly in the early spring.

“Please think about what I said, Clarke. For you, not for anyone else. Just... just think about it, okay?”

“Tell Emori I said ‘hi’.”

“Will do.” Murphy started walking backwards towards the building site. “And tell Octavia to answer her brother’s calls. He’s doing my head in.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get hit by falling bricks.”

“Don’t choke on paint fumes.”

They both laughed and with a quick wave, Murphy turned and jogged back to work.

* * *

  
When Octavia returned home at twenty past five, dumping her bag by the front door and juggling two bags of take-out whilst going through the habitual routine of making sure all of the locks were fastened across the door, she heard laughter and the familiar clink of beer bottles.

“O!” Raven called. “Tell Clarke that ‘flibble’ is not a word!”

“It _is_!”

Octavia peered over the back of the sofa to see Clarke and Raven kneeling over the coffee table playing a game of Scrabble.

“What does it mean, then?” Raven asked.

“It means, like... you know... flibble. It’s just...”

Raven raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know! But it _is_ a word,” Clarke insisted again.

“I’ll trade you unhealthy amounts of In-N-Out if you two call it a draw and put that horrible game away,” Octavia said.

* * *

  
“Lincoln’s a big boy. He’s fine by himself. We’ve got forever to live together. Right now I want junk food, T.V., and you two assholes.”

“Wow, I feel so loved right now,” Clarke said, hand on her chest.

“You better. I bought you food.”

“ _So_ loved.”

* * *

  
“We’re all in a good mood,” Octavia observed.

“Because the unmentionable F-word – and no, I don’t mean ‘fuck’, ‘fucking’, ‘fucked’, ‘fucker’, or any of its other uses – is finally getting what’s coming to him all thanks to Clarkey here,” Raven replied, mouth full and pieces of her burger falling from her mouth. “And she got a promotion.”

“Okay, say it don’t spray it, slob.” Octavia threw a fry at an unfazed Raven who just picked it up and ate that too. “What did you do?” Octavia asked Clarke. “I thought you said you told Lexa you wouldn’t report him?”

“Murphy totally told her a few home truths and freaked her out,” Raven answered for her. “She’s even letting us help with stuff like going to look at a place tomorrow.”

Octavia quirked an eyebrow at Clarke.

“Raven said its someone Anya knows. Owns the house but has extra bedrooms. No rent, just half on bills. Worth a look, I guess,” Clarke shrugged.

Octavia raised her beer. “To Clarke. Finally getting her ass into gear and accepting that her Mamas know best.”

“Cheers to that!” Raven said.

Clarke just laughed and touched her bottle to those of her best friends, so overwhelmed by the last few days but feeling a tinge of hope swelling inside her chest.

* * *

  
After leaving Murphy, Clarke had stopped thinking and just did. Maya put her straight through to Lexa who in turn said that she was free in an hour. She said she would send a car and asked where Clarke was, but Clarke declined, said she fancied the walk and would make her own way there.

With too much time to overthink, the walk back to _Woods Inc._ left Clarke feeling a bit sick, but she knew either in her gut or her heart – or maybe just her head which replayed Murphy’s words over and over again – that she was doing the right thing. Gustus had met her outside – “Can’t keep away, eh?” – and took her up to the top floor, leaving her in the reception area with Maya.

At three P.M. on the dot Lexa had emerged from her office and escorted Clarke to the elevator where they rode down a floor to the location of Human Resources. Lexa had already set up a meeting with the person who she said was the best of the best – both an opinion and a fact. Clarke was introduced to Betty, a lovely woman in her early fifties who had not looked at Clarke with pity but with determination; a woman who Clarke had no sooner shaken hands with before she was simultaneously greeting Miss Woods professionally and dismissing the CEO by briskly ushering her out of the door.

It was an hour of overwhelmingness: of remembering and recollecting; of repeating herself over and over again to ensure no detail was overlooked; of watching words appear in official documents and signing her name as verification. Clarke’s mind faltered only a handful of times, but every time it did Betty was there to reassure her and gently ease her on when she couldn’t push herself.

With the written documentation completed as the first process of the formal grievance, Betty informed Clarke that the most the company could do was fire Finn Collins – which had already been done, but that if she so wished, she could help Clarke get a restraining order against her harasser. Clarke winced at the term.

She couldn’t even fathom it – such an extreme reaction to such a small action – but as Betty and everyone else was telling her time and time again, what had happened was not a small thing and although it could have been worse, what happened was still not okay, and she had to swallow down the instinct in her to protect others and accept that Finn had to shoulder the consequences of his actions.

Betty pressed on, explaining Clarke’s situation in the eyes of the law and although Clarke was saying ‘no’ now, that she would be there to help Clarke through it all should she change her mind.

* * *

  
When Clarke had eventually surfaced from Human Resources, drained and a bit sweaty under the arms, she had made her own way out of the building, but found Raven’s truck parked outside waiting for her.

When Clarke had asked what she was doing there, Raven had shrugged in dismissal, said that a concerned citizen had called and said Clarke may need a friend, and pulled into traffic.

Clarke had immediately thought of Lexa. She thought not of Miss Woods the CEO, but of Lexa Woods the woman; of green eyes of worry and plump lips of kind words; of hands that gesticulated and ears that pinked in blush. She thought of what work would be like now after working with Lexa, knew that even though it had only been a week, something would feel quite amiss with the lack of her presence. Wondered when she would actually see the woman again because aside from one short meeting to distribute her recipes, Clarke could see no feasible reason why the CEO of _Woods Inc._ and a mere barista who was just one of tens of thousands of employees would have any reason to see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke was always going to report Finn, but it is in her nature to put others first and herself last.
> 
> Maybe we can start rebuilding those bridges you burned when you read the previous chapter? I'd like to be friends...
> 
> I share my ice cream with my friends. :-)


	7. A New Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time is a fickle concept of only our minds, so really I could very well be updating at the end of January and not April...
> 
> That being said, I’m three months late (I never thought I would utter a sentence like that being gay!) and I’m sorry. I cannot promise when the next update will be. I work full time, look after lots of animals, and need a good four hours to get to the library and back. Writing time is scarce and I love working with animals and small-scale organic vegan farming too much to make more time for my hobby of words.
> 
> Nevertheless.
> 
> Enjoy.

The addition of the twelve new hires promised a complete change in Clarke’s schedule: gone would be the ten hour shifts, the lack of staff, the long hours and long days that left no time for school or friends or for herself. With the staff all competent and reliable, the promotion of Clarke to manager, and the open communication between Clarke and Anya came the promise of returning Wild Wood Café to the way it had been before Jaha had stopped caring about the business and had begun firing everyone left and right for small mistakes. It left Clarke excited again and the more Anya told her whilst they baked the day’s pastries on Tuesday morning, the more Clarke became aware of the hope that was spreading between them.  
  
“So either you, me or Niylah will be in in the morning to train the newbies up in how to bake these goodies,” Anya said, “but once everyone knows the drill, you and me can sit down and change the schedule into something more permanent. I’d give it a few weeks and then we’ll be able to create a schedule that hopefully suits everyone. We’ve got some nights where it’s all new hires, so I’ll come and lock up on those nights for a minute.”  
  
“You sure? We can split the week if you want?” Clarke offered.  
  
“No, it’s alright. After Jaha’s mess I’m going to be staying around here for a while, just until everyone’s settled.”  
  
“Speaking of. Why aren’t we training anyone this morning?” Clarke asked.  
  
Anya hesitated before, “I thought you might like to have a few hours to get back into the routine of it all again.”  
  
“I said I was fine to come back to work.”  
  
It was Clarke’s first day back at work since Finn – only two days ago, but it felt like much longer. She had been offered a week’s paid leave, but one day off was long enough for Clarke because although working at Wild Wood wasn’t her end goal, the place brought her a familiar comfort of baked goods, of the strong smell of coffee and sugar, of the daily interactions that she liked to think sometimes made a customer’s day a little bit better, even if it was only a genuinely asked _how are you?_ to allow people to see that they weren’t just another cog in the overworked machine of the daily grind, but were important and valued people who were worth the time taken to ask and subsequently to listen, or a smile and a friendly _have a lovely morning!_ to show that someone – even just a common barista – in the monotonous concrete jungle of the city cared enough to look a stranger in the eye and wish them happiness.  
  
“I know, but as of tomorrow, mornings are going to be a lot less calm. We’ll have to teach what we do so mindlessly. I’ll have to actually think about what I do so they do it the right way. I haven’t looked at your recipes in years.”  
  
“You never looked at them; I had to read them to you.”  
  
“Yeah, well not everyone can read Hebrew.”  
  
“It’s English!”  
  
“Tell that to your squiggles – because that’s the only word for it.”  
  
Clarke gave a short laugh and shook her head. “They’re not my recipes anyway; I just made a few changes to the old ones.”  
  
“Yeah, and made them amazing. Seriously, I don’t know why I never thought of making your recipes the standard recipes in the business before. But this is why Lexa’s CEO.”  
  
“You never wanted to be CEO?”  
  
“I’m a baker who travels.”  
  
“But you’re the COO.”  
  
“I like baking too much to be cooped up in an office all day. Behind you,” Anya said as she removed a tray of cupcakes from the oven. “I handle being COO of the cafés and Ontari’s the COO of the restaurants. Everything else is Lexa. We used to joke that she’d choke on the amount she’d bitten off, but then being the stubborn weirdo she is, she went ahead and made a multi-million dollar company into a multi-billion dollar company in seven years. Honestly, what an overachiever.”  
  
Although Anya rolled her eyes, Clarke watched the pride swell in her face as she spoke of her younger sister. Clarke felt some of that same pride swell up inside of her chest too.  
 

* * *

  
Just before six A.M., Anya introduced Clarke to Roma when she arrived: a sweet girl of nineteen who greeted Clarke quietly and when the café opened at six, got straight to work when the customers started to trickle in.  
  
After a six and a half hour shift, another three new employees were supposed to turn up at half past ten for the afternoon shift. And they did turn up – early, even – much to Clarke’s relief. A small part of her had been prepared to stay until the evening shift, but the larger part had told her to trust Anya, however hard it was for her to place complete trust in someone else, even someone like Anya who she had known for the last four years.  
  
Clarke met Atom, Drew and Miller and was looking forward to getting to know them, for she refused to be the kind of boss who knew nothing about her employees; a dictator who didn’t care for the welfare of those she worked with. She refused to be Jaha. Manager or not, she was determined to befriend each and every new person to the café, starting with being less authority figure and more colleague – because she was, really.  
  
But that would have to wait because after multiple attempts at getting Clarke to leave, Anya decided to physically usher Clarke away to collect her things together.  
  
“I’ll stay,” Anya said as Clarke lifted her bag from its hook.  
  
“I really don’t mind,” Clarke said for the third time.  
  
“Not happening. Besides,” Anya said as the bell to the door jingled, “Raven’s here already.”  
  
Raven walked over and shared a quick kiss with Anya before grabbing Clarke’s hand and dragging her away.  
  
“Good luck!” Clarke heard Anya call.  
  


* * *

  
They had been driving for almost thirty minutes and Clarke watched as the inner city disappeared and the suburbs emerged between large grassed parks and tree-lined streets. The sky seemed to lighten, the air brighter and clearer the farther away from city life they drove. She wound the window down to breathe in the cleanliness that floated in on the breeze and wondered what she had done to deserve to feel a feeling like that: one that smelt like a fresh start.  
  
“So it’s a little farther out,” Raven said, “but it’s gorgeous, Clarke. I think you’ll love it.”  
  
“You’ve seen it already?”  
  
“Briefly.”  
  
“Is there a bus stop nearby?” Clarke asked.  
  
“Yeah, like, just up the road from the house, I think? We can have a look.”  
  
“Who is this girl anyway?”  
  
“Someone Anya knows.”  
  
“I know that, but what’s her name?”  
  
“Alexandra. It’s just up here,” Raven said, turning a final corner.  
  
The trees on Clarke’s potential new road seemed bigger than the ones they had passed on the drive to the house, rising up along the street and in front gardens with trunks so tall, branches so long and colourful foliage of yellowwoods, cherries, maples and oaks so thick that the road was in shadow and speckled sunlight. The houses were clearly built around the pre-existing greenery, seeming to be peeking out from behind the trees and hedges in an attempt to not be seen and ruin the view.  
  
Clarke watched the neighbourhood residents go about their Tuesday mornings: watched a man transferring flowers from pots into the ground, two women jogging, a man walking a dog with a little girl on a scooter, watched him greet an elderly couple, and watched their smiles, their gestures of familiarity with one another.   
  
There was a contrast of privacy and protection with community and hospitality in the area and as Raven pulled up to the house and turned off the engine, Clarke thought that it may well have been the most beautiful place she had ever been to.  
  


* * *

  
Stood beside the truck parked in the driveway of number thirteen on Polis Street, Clarke already knew she was going to accept the stranger’s invitation of a new home.  
  
This house, along with the other modest, two-storied houses along the small stretch of road looked to be some of the oldest in the area and instead of modernising as many would, the occupants had up kept the old granite-bricked driveways, the red brick exteriors, the upstairs dormer windows, the small porches, the green tiled rooves, the cream accents, and the colourful front doors.  
  
The front garden was large enough to kick a ball around a bit but small enough to manage. Clarke’s feet carried her forward until she felt the grass beneath the soles of her shoes; not the vibrant, cultivated kind, but the coarse yet spongey native species of the North. It was the fence, however, that had Clarke oddly drawn to it. Although the property had small, unruly pine trees surrounding it, a three-foot wattle fence had been hand-crafted around the edge of the garden, the sticks wild and disorderly and so eccentrically unconventional in their beauty.  
  
Clarke thought it fit whoever lived at number thirteen perfectly.  
  
“Clarke,” Raven called from the few stone steps leading up to the front door.  “Coming, weirdo?”  
  
Clarke followed the trail of hand-painted clay pots growing squat plants up the steps, the leaves brushing her legs as her fingers dusted the flower petals.  
  
Number thirteen’s door was green. Less forest green or olive green and more fern green or moss green. It wasn’t bright and bold, but was muted. Understated. It felt inviting; more welcoming to Clarke than anything had since she used to arrive home from school to the smell of her father’s vegetable lasagne on Friday evenings.  
  
They took their shoes off and placed them on the wooden rack behind the door, per the owner’s request, Raven said. Clarke thought she had a feel for Alexandra, but the clearly worn but shined loafers and the heels amongst the trainers, hiking boots and wellies threw Clarke’s image of the girl off kilter.  
  
“Who did you say this girl is again?”  
  
“Alexandra.”  
  
“Yeah, but what does she do?” Clarke asked, eyeing the jumble of shoes. “Need help?” Clarke offered as Raven huffed, juggling her cane and trying to get her second boot off.  
  
“No,” Raven grunted. “Some suit job, but she’s not that kind of person. Obviously,” Raven rolled her eyes and threw her hand up as if to simultaneously gesture to their surroundings and to give up in frustration. “Okay, maybe I do.”  
  
Clarke knelt, untied the lace and slipped the boot off Raven’s foot.  
  
“Having trouble again?” she asked, placing the boots on the rack.  
  
“Just rusty. Needs adjusting.”  
  
“You’re sure that’s all it is?”  
  
“Yes, Mum. Now let’s go.”  
  
Although Raven would never admit it, Clarke could see the wince on Raven’s face every time she moved her braced leg, saw her body tense in preparation for the pain that came with every step, noticed her relying on her cane more than usual. But Clarke also knew not to mention it, that just admitting she needed help with something because of her leg was sometimes enough for Raven to shut down and pull away. She knew that her best friend was strong and independent and had never let her leg limit what she did, but the reality was that sometimes it did limit her, be it in mobility, pace, or sometimes hindered her in moving at all when the pain came to be too much.  
  
Clarke made a mental note to make a call – one she dreaded, but knew her friend needed.  
  


* * *

  
Raven led Clarke through a door to the left and into the living room. The essence of Alexandra continued from outside, with the odd sofa and armchair from different sets draped in colourful Aztec throws, the mismatched potted plants sitting on the pallet coffee table and side tables with what looked to be scratches down some of the legs, the burnt orange accents around the room. Along with the low ceiling with exposed wooden beams, the open fireplace which housed a small wood burner, and the heavy curtains currently pulled back, Clarke could imagine how cosy the room would feel at night: curled up on the sofa with a fire burning, main light off but the lamps on, reading or watching TV in the quiet of the area.  
  
Clarke’s own house – the one she had grown up in – had never really been that. Her mum had been compulsive about keeping everything clean and tidy. There were a few vases of cut flowers but never potted plants where soil could create a mess. The only time Abby used to relax when mess was made was when Clarke’s dad rubbed her shoulders, kissed her temple and said he’d clean it up. And Clarke and her dad used to make a lot of mess: paint, ink and charcoal from art projects. Jake used to bring back greasy engines which they would work on in the garage, the blue of their eyes and the brown and blonde of their respective hair brought out by their blackened skin. When Jake was no longer around to do that, the home Clarke grew up in lost any appeal; became only jagged edges sharpened by the smell of bleach and the primping of cushions, by the hard sofa bought for aesthetics rather than comfort and the lack of warmth in her mother’s tight lipped smile.  
  
Clarke lost her father and the home he made and she never thought she’d find something like that again.  
  
This stranger’s living room made her think that maybe she would.  
  


* * *

  
The kitchen-diner was bigger than the one in her current living quarters; just the thought of not having to clamber over each other trying to make breakfast and having a six-seater dining table to eat at excited her for mornings in the old house. The farmhouse-style cupboards and drawers made Clarke’s fingers itch. She hadn’t felt that in a long time.  
  
From the living room to the kitchen, from the hallway all the way up the stairs to the landing, to the bathroom, the spare bedroom and to what would be her bedroom, all of the wooden floors creaked and Clarke fell in love.  
  
Her bedroom was spacious and far too big for what she currently owned, but it would allow Clarke room to grow, would enable her to reach into the farthest depths of herself and not be constricted as she tried to figure out who she was now – who it was she had become.  
  
Her room overlooked the back garden and when she caught sight of it, she ushered Raven out of the door to go and see it up close.  
  
It was as they were making their way down the stairs that something caught Clarke’s eye – or, rather, the lack of something.  
  
“Where are all the pictures?”  
  
Raven’s step faltered and Clarke reached out to grip her shoulders to stop Raven from falling down the stairs.  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Raven said after steadying herself and continued downward.  
  
“So?” Clarke prompted.  
  
Raven shrugged. “Maybe she’s not the kind of person.”  
  
“But there are hooks in the walls,” Clarke said, confused.  
  
There were hooks where frames should have been but nothing hung there.  
  
Raven shrugged again. “Who knows?”  
  
When they got to the hallway, as Clarke looked around once more, she realised the empty spaces: on the top of the shoe rack in the porch, on the old oak mantelpiece and the side tables, on the walls, on the fridge where magnets waited to hold something close.  
  
Clarke wondered what had to have happened for someone to remove all trace of those they loved and held dear, of everyone in their life. Clarke thought of her own father; of the pictures that contained him that now sat in boxes in the attic of her mother’s house and the thought that everyone close to Alexandra had been taken from her at once broke the fractures in Clarke’s heart open a little wider.  
  
She wondered if her new room had once been someone else’s.  
  
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Clarke asked Raven.  
  
“The garden’s amazing, Clarke, you saw it.”  
  
“No,” Clarke worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I mean me moving in.”  
  
Raven stopped with the back door partly open. “I thought you loved it? And it’s cheaper than the shit hole we’re in now. And I promise there’s a bus that passes through here. We’ll go and find the bus stop in a bit. And–”  
  
“No, it’s not that. Just...” Clarke sighed. “Does she even want me here?”  
  
Raven dropped the door handle and wrapped her arms around Clarke. Clarke fell into the embrace.  
  
“She offered. She’s not the kind of girl who does something without meaning it. She wants you here – or at least doesn’t mind you here. Personally, I think she’d be glad of the company, even if she doesn’t say it outright.”  
  
Clarke thought of the missing frames, of the empty places. She thought of the empty spaces in the stranger’s heart. She wondered if she’d ever be able to even begin to fill them.  
  
She hoped she could start.  
  
“Okay,” Clarke pulled away. “Take me to Narnia.”  
  


* * *

  
Because that’s what the garden felt like to Clarke: Narnia.  
  
It was magical the moment she stepped out of the back door, down the few steps that, like the front steps, were trailed with potted plants, and into the garden. And with the garden south-facing, Clarke was momentarily blinded by the late-morning sun before her eyes adjusted to the magical world she was standing in.  
  
Her childhood home had a large garden – even bigger than Alexandra’s – but it was all grass – the bright, cultivated kind – with a pool. The pool was cleaned every week and the grass was cut every two weeks. Running was allowed but nothing that would ruin the pristine look of the grass: no balls, no bikes, no plants. Her and her father could get away with messing the house up – it was easily fixed, but the garden was off-limits. If they wanted to play on grass they had to go to the park. Abby was not a bad mother, she was simply particular in the way she liked things to be. Mother and daughter had always struggled to see eye-to-eye.    
  
Alexandra’s garden must have been four times the size of the front garden and the pine trees and wattle fence edged the back garden too, except that the sticks were closer together.  
  
And it was obvious why when Clarke heard a small ‘ _bwork_ ’ and looked down to see a black chicken walking up to her from next to the steps, the chicken’s head tilted to look up at Clarke.  
  
“She has chickens!” Clarke exclaimed and grabbed at Raven’s arm both out of excitement and terror.  
  
Clarke took a few steps forward.  
  
One giant raised bed ran the length of the left hand side of the garden. Clarke watched bees and butterflies flit from flower to flowers and amongst the fruit bushes and vegetables were more chickens, dragging their feet through the soil, flicking it over the edge and pecking at the ground when they found insects to eat. They looked cute and cuddly, but at the same time, Clarke was very aware of the black chicken following them. The coop, Clarke noticed, was less a coop and more a large shed-turned-coop sitting in the back right hand corner, the little door propped open and a ramp leading to the ground. Eight young trees ran along the back of the garden, between the raised bed and the coop, and Clarke couldn’t be sure, but given the rest of the garden she thought they may be fruit trees. They could have been oak trees just the same; she couldn’t tell the difference.  
  
Large ceramic pots littered either side of the steps (Clarke would say hundreds but Raven would tell her that was an exaggeration and say that yes, there were lots, but probably no more than sixty at best), all well into their rebirth over a month into spring.  
  
“So what do you think?” Raven asked.  
  
The garden encompassed the season perfectly, with its ambiance and scents of the plants all swirling together invisibly in the air. The colours were bright and the sun was high in the sky and even with the black chicken eyeing her suspiciously, Clarke felt calm and content.  
  
She felt like she belonged, something she hadn’t felt in almost five years.  
  
“I think me and the chickens are going to be good friends,” Clarke said, reaching down to stroke the chicken.  
  
The chicken obviously didn’t want that and she pecked Clarke’s finger. Clarke shrieked with laugher and pulled back abruptly as Raven laughed at her.  
  
“Still think you’ll be best friends?”  
  
Clarke eyed the chicken. The chicken eyed the stranger in her home. When Clarke looked back up, her eyes were sparkling. Raven couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Clarke’s eyes so bright.  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
‘ _Bwork_ ’ said the black chicken, as if to agree.  
  


* * *

  
They were just leaving the house when a football flew over the pine trees, bounced off the bed of Raven’s truck and onto the grass of the front garden. It was quickly followed by the body of a boy as he crawled out from under the border of trees. He stood but stopped short when he noticed the truck in the driveway and the two women stood on the steps of number thirteen.  
  
“Um. Hi?” he smiled sheepishly.  
  
He wore old jeans that were slightly too short for his long legs and a plain green t-shirt. His feet were bare and dirty and his blonde hair was flecked with mud and leaves, but his light blue eyes shone with the freedom of a child chasing a ball.  
  
Raven recovered from the shock of the presence of the unannounced child first.  
  
“Hi. I’m just showing my friend Clarke here her new home.”  
  
“Oh!” The boy’s eyes seemed to light up in recognition. “I’m Aden. I live next door.” He waved his hand over his shoulder towards where he had come. “Dad’s a terrible goalie. Le–”  
  
Raven cleared her throat which interrupted Aden.  
  
“ _Alexandra_. Alexandra’s way better but she’s away. She said she might have someone live with her. Are you her friend?” he asked Clarke.  
  
“Um. Kind of?” Clarke replied. “I’m Clarke and this is Raven.”  
  
“Well I’m Aden and as long as you throw my stuff back over then I like you already and don’t mind you living with my s– neighbour. My _neighbour_.”  
  
He nodded once as if to confirm the fact. Then he jumped the wattle fence, ran around Raven’s truck, retrieved his football, ran back to the trees and smiled and waved before crawling back to number fourteen on Polis Street.  
  
“Cute kid,” Raven said, getting in the driver’s side.  
  
“Shouldn’t he be in school?” Clarke asked when they were driving slowly up the road to find the bus stop.  
  
“Maybe he’s sick.”  
  
“He didn’t look sick.”  
  
“Maybe he convinced his dad he’s sick. Or his dad’s super cool and let him take a pretend sick day. It’s a nice day, Clarke. Every kid wants a day off school on a nice day. Look, this corner, here,” Raven said, pointing to the corner of the street.  
  
Clarke got out, looked at the times of the buses and then got back in.  
  
“He said Alexandra plays with him.”  
  
“A nice girl who plays with a nice kid on a nice day. Sounds about right.”  
  
“I think I’ll like her.” A pause. “Do you think I’ll like her?”  
  
“I think you two will be perfect for each other. Now. How about you treat me to lunch–”  
  
“I’m the starving artist, why am I treating you?”  
  
“Because I’m fantastic. But, fine. I’ll buy lunch and then we’ll watch shitty T.V. until O brings dinner over and then we’ll all finish packing the rest of the apartment up. We can move our stuff tomorrow–”  
  
“I have class until half ten and then work at five.”  
  
“Tomorrow _afternoon_ and finish up on Thursday.”  
  
“I have class from four to half five on Thursday.”  
  
“We’ll break for a few hours then. How does that sound?” Raven briefly looked over to Clarke to see her forehead creased.  
  
“Don’t we have to pay four weeks’ rent for not letting the landlord know we’re moving out in advance?”  
  
“I already paid him off.”  
  
“Raven–” Clarke looked stricken.  
  
“I earn hell of a lot more than a barista slash art student and a drama teacher slash sports coach, Clarke. Like, a _lot_ more.”  
  
“And you were trying to get me to buy _you_ lunch?”  
  
“So, today? Tomorrow? Thursday? Sound good? You’ll be unpacked by time Alexandra comes back on Saturday that way.”  
  
“Aden said she was away. Where’s she gone?”  
  
Raven shrugged. “Business is business. So?”  
  
Clarke worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s all moving fast. Isn’t it? Is it all moving too fast?”  
  
Raven reached over to hold Clarke’s hand. “Or maybe it’s just fast enough so you don’t second-guess everything. I think sometimes it’s scary to change so much so quickly, but maybe it’s life giving you a second chance. Maybe it’s the universe saying, ‘ _Hey, I know I fucked you over a whole lot of times but have this promotion and pay rise and new house and lower bills and hot house mate – probably, anyway – and these fucking amazing best friends and I know it can never make up for what I took from you, but maybe we can try again?_ ’ Maybe it’s supposed to be scary because all of the important things in life are.”  
  
“You don’t have work tomorrow or anything?”  
  
“I am the best and youngest – in that order – mechanical engineer the world has ever seen, Clarke. The military can wait a few days.”  
  
“So no work at the moment?”  
  
“The pieces are being flown in next week. They’ll have a ship for me to piece together next weekend.”  
  
“You’ve got next week off too?”  
  
“Quick consultation up with NASA on Tuesday but that’s it until that navel ship comes in.”  
  
“You and your big brain,” Clarke smiled.  
  
“You know what they say: big brain, big–”  
  
“So, tomorrow?” Clarke interrupted, laughing.  
  
“Way to ruin the moment, Griff,” Raven scowled.  
  
“It doesn’t work anyway; you don’t have a penis.”  
  
Raven dropped Clarke’s hand and visibly cringed. “Never use that word again. It was fine when you were in med school, but you can’t use that word as a starving artist, you just can’t.”    
  
Clarke dissolved into laughter at her friend’s obvious distress.  
  


* * *

  
Raven’s room was already boxed and ready to go and Octavia’s remaining things fit in one box and a duffle bag so stomachs full, Clarke’s room was disassembled and packed into boxes that Clarke and Raven picked up from the local grocery shop on their drive home from Polis Street. She watched as Raven emptied her chest of drawers, her clothing unfolding as they got stuffed into black bags; as Octavia carefully peeled the years of artwork from the walls and stacked them neatly in a box; as her own hands managed her paints, pencils and charcoals into some semblance of order and labelled the boxes once sealed.  
  
Clarke watched her room empty into the living room, watched the whole apartment become less-a-sea-and-more-a-small-pond of brown cardboard and black plastic and for once, the thought of all of the empty rooms, of four walls completely bare didn’t fill her with fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for Lexa-less chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are a great indicator both for the quality of the work and improvements and constructive critisism. I thrive on both of these (and chocolate salted caramel ice cream).
> 
> All are encouraged.


End file.
